


Whoopsidaisies

by ash_filled_words



Series: Whoops AU stories [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Actor!Jean, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, FamousJerk!Jean, Fluff, Librarian!Marco, Library AU, M/M, Notting Hill inspired AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, rated for language and things to come, this will be mostly fluffy given the inspiration material
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:06:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_filled_words/pseuds/ash_filled_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt lived a simple life, full of books and quiet days in Trost Library.<br/>Jean Kirstein was a rising action movie star, the 'Sexiest Man of the Year', trying to take his career onto a more serious track.</p><p>Both lives take an interesting turn when Jean walks into Marco's library to research for his first 'serious' role and finds something even better.  A friend, and maybe more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The 'Meet Cute'

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started from a suggestion by Tumblr user what-a-joice that someone needed to write a Notting Hill AU story about JeanMarco set in a library. I couldn't shake the idea, so this is the result. The title is a reference to a scene from Notting Hill that I may just have to work into this fic, since it will totally fit with these dorks.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/post/82728104664/what-a-joice-valkyrie-reborn-what-a-joice).
> 
> This is my first fanfic and I have no beta, so be kind. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

**_“Attention Trost Library patrons… we will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make your final selections and bring them to the circulation desk at your earliest convenience.”_ **

Marco hung up the phone after making the announcement and sagged back into his office chair behind the long counter. Sasha was taking care of one of the few remaining stragglers. The elderly woman was nodding politely as his co-worker launched into a discussion about the merits of various different cooking methods for potatoes.

Barely suppressing the chuckle that bubbled up, Marco stood, leaving Sasha to handle the rest of the check-outs. Grabbing an empty cart, he moved out into the quiet library, eyes roving along the stacks and tables, looking for books that were not returned to their proper places. As he pushed the cart along, Marco let out of a huff of a sigh. It was the squeaky one. He always grabbed the one with the bad wheel, without fail.

_Squeak… Squeak… Squeak…_

The cart quickly filled with books and other reading materials. Marco stopped at one of the heavy wooden tables, grabbing a copy of “Horse and Hound” along with some recent edition of “People”. He gave the cover a passing glance, rolling his eyes at the ‘Sexiest Man of the Year!’ splashed across the page without looking at the image. Both were tossed onto the top of the growing magazine pile.

_Squeak… Squeak… Squeak…_

All the tables were now cleared and ready to be wiped down after closing. Marco pushed the heavily-laden cart towards the rows in the rear of the library. The incessant noise from the wheel was starting to make his eye twitch with irritation. He reached up to rub the bridge of his freckled nose and sighed softly. _I’ll have to find the can of WD-40 before I leave._ Sasha’s cheerful voice came over the PA system.

**_Trost Library is now closing. Please come to the circulation desk to check out. Have a lovely evening!_ **

Hauling the cart around a corner and into the last row of shelves, Marco came to an abrupt stop. Sitting on the floor was a young man, books strewn around him on the worn wooden floors, a look of intense frustration across his features. He was wearing a baseball cap tugged low over his face, sunglasses worth more than Marco was paid a week balancing precariously on the brim. The man was engrossed in the book on his lap, absentmindedly tugging on a piercing in his ear and oblivious to the librarian standing a few feet from him.

Marco politely cleared his throat. There was no reaction. The man began mumbling under his breath in words that sounded vaguely French. Edging closer, Marco cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. _The hell is so interesting?_ Leaning down, intending to tap the patron’s shoulder, he saw them. The thin white wires of iPhone earbuds. He could hear the tinny sounds of loud music in the silence of the now-empty library.

A slight turn of the young man’s head put Marco’s leg into his peripheral vision and he startled, book flopping off his lap and onto the floor with a thud. “Christ on a fucking stick!” he swore, whipping his annoyed gaze up to Marco and smacking his outstretched hand away. With a hard yank, he pulled the earbuds out and scowled at the librarian. “What?”

Taken aback by the instant rudeness of the man – who was unfairly good-looking – and the sting on his skin where he had been hit, Marco just stared blankly into the amber eyes. An uncomfortable silence settled between them, stretching the seconds. The hard gaze levelled upwards softened just fractionally at the now-blushing librarian. “I was… well… just wondering,” Marco began, finally finding his voice.

“No autographs, man, sorry,” he snapped, waving his hand in Marco’s direction, his eyes dropping back down to the book he had been reading earlier. The silence from above seemed to confuse him, and he glanced back up. “It’s just my personal policy. No offense.”

Marco smiled slightly, the hand he had reached out earlier rubbing the back of his warm neck. “Honestly, I don’t know why I would want your autograph. I just thought you might need help taking the books you wanted to the desk. Library is closing,” he said quietly.

It was the other man’s turn to be struck mute. He stood up in the middle of his circle of books, head tilted and mouth gaped in shock. “You… have to be fucking with me,” he said slowly. His tone snapped again, “Who put you up to this?”

Marco just shrugged lamely as he took in the apparently famous man. The body-hugging long-sleeved V-neck shirt and designer jeans probably cost more than he spent in a year on his own clothing. The flush on his cheeks darkened as he glanced down at his own rumpled button-down shirt and department store khakis. “I don’t tend to pay attention to all the… Hollywood stuff,” he said.

“You must live under a damn rock,” the young man snorted.

“Pretty much. Prefer books to TV.”

A loud laugh erupted from the other man and Marco’s gaze snapped to him in surprise. He reached around the freckled librarian and grabbed a magazine from the cart. Cologne and a faint hint of cigarettes followed the motion. Marco was frozen in place as he had the copy of “People” shoved into his face. This time, he actually looked at the picture on the cover. It blared ‘JEAN KIRSTEIN – SEXIEST MAN OF THE YEAR’.

The other man’s words echoed in his own head. _You have to be fucking with me._ The librarian’s eyes flicked from the magazine to the other man, who had removed his hat to reveal two-toned hair that he was ruffling with his free hand, and back again. “This… is you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”


	2. Flirting Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco finds Jean to be as intriguing as a good book... and can't wait to read more.

_An actual celebrity… Can’t say I disagree with People’s selection… wow…_

Marco’s eyebrow quirked up and his brown eyes travelled over the snarky actor. The light blue shirt left little to the imagination, each curve and dip of defined muscle showing through the soft material. Sharp hip bones poked out from the top of the low-riding jeans clinging to a narrow waist. Marco’s gaze followed the downward slope and he swallowed hard. _Sex on a stick, and he knows it._ He looked back up to the other man’s amber eyes under the shaggy blonde hair and gave the back of his neck a hard rub.

Jean had caught the librarian looking and was wearing the biggest shit-eating grin, like he got that reaction all the time. The actor slid his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to one foot, cool and self-confident. _Jesus, is he flexing his muscles? Is he actually flirting or just messing with me?_ Marco drew himself up to his full height, a couple inches taller than Jean, and smiled kindly. Nothing could be done about the red on his cheeks, which had grown darker as his pulse picked up. He could pretend that being made to look a bit clueless didn’t bother him.

The magazine was folded and shoved into one of the deep pockets of his khakis. _Nope, totally not saving that to read later._ Striking his best ‘cool librarian’ pose, he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Actually, the name’s not Sherlock, though that would be far more interesting. It’s…”

**_Marco Marco Bodt, where are you? We’ve got some work to do now!_ **

Sasha’s voice rang out loudly over the PA system, cutting Marco off mid-sentence. There was a rustling sound and one of the cheesy 1970s Scooby-Doo chase songs started playing over the speakers. _Good Lord, Sasha, really? Recipe for Love?_ Marco just deflated, any possibility of appearing suave completely gone.

Jean burst out laughing hard, nearly doubling over, as Marco’s cheeks burned hot. With an exaggerated sigh, he ran both hands through his hair and grinned, Jean’s laughter infectious. Addicting even. “I’d love to say Sasha isn’t always this bizarre and that this is just a quiet, normal library, but… that would be a lie. Though usually it involves one-sided games of Marco Polo,” Marco said, driving the other man to laugh harder.

“One-sided… Marco Polo… my fucking gawd!” Red-faced and gasping for air, Jean wiped a tear away as he tried to control the laughter still shaking his body. Marco rolled his eyes and rocked on his feet, chuckling softly. He resisted the urge to bob his head or dance to the music and possibly make Jean laugh harder. It was shocking that Sasha wasn’t coming to investigate the noise. The actor was THAT loud.

Marco’s gaze drifted down to the floor, taking a closer look at what Jean had been reading. Memoirs, psychology, historical accounts of the World Wars, generally not the types of books he would have expected an ‘action star’ to be looking through. Kneeling, he picked up the one that Jean had left open. The instant stop to the other man’s laughter was unsettling. Jean snatched the book out of Marco’s hands before he could even look at the cover.

It was a strange shift. Light-hearted, laughing, open young man suddenly sullen, closed off, and rude. The relaxed and confident stance from before was gone, replaced with crossed arms and an angry scowl. It was proving difficult to get any sort of read on him. Marco brows pushed together in annoyance and curiosity. His tone even, he asked Jean, “You know that I’ll see what it is when you check out, right?”

Jean cursed softly under his breath, tense shoulders sagging as he shifted back to the relaxed and lazy stance, the book tucked under his arm. One corner of his mouth curled into a brief smirk. “True enough. Sorry.” He slipped so quickly and seamlessly between moods. Was he that good of an actor or was it something else? Marco shrugged the thought off and just nodded.

Kneeling down next to Marco, Jean gathered his selections. The librarian helped him reshelf a few he was not planning on checking out. They hadn’t really spoken again, but the silence felt oddly comfortable. Jean caught Marco nodding his head to Sasha’s music and chuckled, gaze darting away to avoid eye contact.

The magic of the moment was broken by his co-worker’s off-key singing voice getting ever closer as she cleaned. Marco might have been oblivious about their famous visitor, but it was unlikely that Sasha was. “Hey, Jean… you might want to put the hat and glasses on. Pretty sure Sash will recognize you,” he told the actor. The two-toned hair was quickly covered with the baseball cap, mirrored sunglasses disguising his face.

“Not everyone here lives in that cave with you, eh Marco?” Jean teased.

“Utterly baffling. It’s quite nice and cozy,” Marco replied as he started to push the squeaky cart back towards the front of the library. The pair walked side-by-side in that easy silence. Jean snorted quietly at the sight of Sasha dancing between the tables with a dust rag, but managed to keep from cracking up this time. Marco snuck a few sidelong glances at the other man.

_Squeak… Squeak… Squeak…_

Marco jumped at the warm grip of Jean’s hand over his on the cart’s handle. A trail of goosebumps sped over freckled skin as the brief touch and he stopped in his tracks. The actor was muttering something laced with curse words as he got down on the floor setting the pile of books next to him. He shoved up his sleeves over his forearms and started working on the bad wheel. Hints of tattoos were revealed just under the bunched material. _Definitely has all the trademark bad boy requirements…_

A glance in Sasha’s direction found her watching them curiously as she pretended to clean. The brunette woman pointed to Jean and back to Marco, raising an eyebrow and mouthing “Single?” He shrugged in response. He honestly had no clue, though it was highly unlikely Jean would be interested in him. Sasha shook her head, disappointed for him, and returned to her work as she whistled along with the Monkees song now playing.

“There. Fucking things. You coated this damn wheel in grease when you should have been adjusting the tension of the bolt.” Jean stood up, pulling Marco’s attention back. He grabbed a dust rag from the cart, wiping off his hands. Marco gave it a tentative push and was pleasantly surprised. No more squeaking. The actor was looking over his mirrored glasses, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“A man of many talents, I see.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises, Polo.”

The gleam in Jean’s eyes hinted at barely restrained laughter. Marco wrinkled his nose at the name. He hated being called that normally, but just this once, he allowed it. “Why do I get the feeling you use that as a pickup line?” Pushing cart again, he tossed a quick smirk over his shoulder at the other man, and stuck the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth. Jean started to chase after him, but had to double back and grab the books he had left on the floor.

A strong hand clapped against Marco’s shoulder, lingering for just a moment. Jean fell into step next to him, the smile a bit more subdued. “Sad thing, man, I fucking wish I had to use shitty pickup lines. But I will admit to having used that one before, ya know,” Jean said quietly, clearing his throat. Marco found himself confused again, glancing over at the other man. There was a hint of embarrassed blush just below the sunglasses.

Marco pulled the cart to a stop near the long desk, slipping behind it and waking up the computer from its screensaver. He settled into the wooden rolling chair as Jean dropped the books down, leaning on them with crossed arms and glasses hooked in his shirt collar. The registration system was still open from the last patron. Marco pulled up the appropriate screens to add a new member. “ID please,” he said, not looking up from the monitor as he started entering Jean’s name.

Soft grumbled protests drifted over the sounds of Sasha’s music, but Jean complied. A battered driver’s license clattered faintly as it was dropped onto the polished surface of the desk. Marco picked it up, looking it over. _That’s odd._ Jean’s last name was spelled differently – Kirschstein instead of Kirstein – and the license was actually one for Illinois instead of California or some other state. Chicago was listed as the city, rather than Trost or any of the other nearby suburbs.

“You actually have a residence here?” he asked, looking up from the screen. Jean nodded and leaned in closer, beckoning Marco with two fingers.

“If that address gets out, I’ll know who to blame,” he whispered, his husky tone threatening and teasing at the same time. Marco gulped, finding it a bit hard to breathe with the actor inches from his face. Jean tilted his head and pulled back, a grin cracking the serious expression. _The hell… he is just messing with me._ The other man picked up one of his books and started thumbing through it, like nothing had happened.

With a little shake of his head, Marco got to work, entering the remaining information and sending a request to the printer for the new library card. Keeping busy stopped him from staring at Jean. Each book was scanned, the list generating on screen with the return dates. Marco met his eyes as he handed over the last book – the one Jean had gotten so defensive about – and broke the contact to read the title. It was a historical study of sexuality in the era between the two World Wars.

Jean’s voice was quiet, almost tentative, as he explained, “It’s… for a role I want to audition for. Casting starts in about a month in Chicago. Kinda why I’m here.” Marco nodded, not pushing further, and scanned the book. He hesitated a moment, not handing it back. The name plaque on the desk had a little slot full of his business cards. He plucked one out from the stack and tucked it inside the cover.

“Jean, I don’t mean to push myself on you, but I’m actually quite good at helping with research. If you ever need guidance…” Marco let his voice trail off, smiling uncertainly as he placed the book on top of the stack. He felt heat rising to his face the second he stopped talking and went back to work. The book list was printed off and waiting, so he stood up to grab it all from the printer.

When he turned back around, Jean had pulled the business card out of the book and was sliding it into a pocket. Marco handed him the new library card and paper with the return dates. “Make sure you bring them back, or else I’ll have to send increasingly harassing letters to the address that does not exist,” he said with a grin. That earned him another quiet chuckle from Jean.

After folding the paper around the library card, Jean slid them inside the top book. He paused for a second, teeth biting at the corner of his mouth. In a swift movement, the actor leaned over the desk and tugged the magazine out of Marco’s pocket. He grabbed a Sharpie marker from a cup of writing utensils as he flipped to the cover story and hastily scribbled a message across the page.

Jean slid the sunglasses back on his face, flashing Marco an utterly perfect smile. Gathering up his books in one arm, he extended his hand to the librarian. “Be seeing you, Marco,” he said as they shook hands.

“It was a pleasure, Jean.” The actor turned and walked out the door into the fading sunlight of the late spring evening. Marco could still feel the impression of Jean’s strong grip on his hand. He was tempted to chase after the other man and ask him out for coffee. It wasn’t due to his fame or the fact that he was incredibly handsome, but because there was something about him just below the surface that he wanted to figure out. Jean Kirstein, or Kirschstein, was that good book that he just couldn’t put down.

Marco sighed softly, pressing his hands into the surface of the desk. _Known him less than an hour, and I’m already obsessing._ Then he remembered the magazine. Marco snatched it up and opened to the article. Jean’s scrawl was a bit hard to read, but manageable.

                ‘To Marco – Thank you for treating me like a real person. Maybe it’s not so bad you lived under that rock. It kept you human and kind. It’s been too long since I laughed like that – Jean’

A single curse of “Shit” slipped out. Marco never swore, or at least tried really hard not to do it. With a groan, the librarian sunk into the chair, the magazine rolled into a tight tube in his grip. The chair tipped back as he slumped against it, the heels of his hands pressed hard against his closed eyes. _Am I going crazy? I have to be. There’s just no way. He could have anyone..._

“Earth to Marco!” Sasha yelled from the door. He yelped in surprise and jumped, barely catching himself before the chair toppled over. His co-worker immediately started giggling. She locked the front door and came up to the spot that had been occupied by Jean moments before. “So… spill! Is he single, interested, and totally wanting to touch the Bodt?”

The red blush immediately flooded to his checks at her bluntness. Marco tucked the magazine into a drawer and looked up to roll his eyes at her. “I don’t know, Sash. He’s way out of my league. I’ll just leave it at that.”

Sasha leaned over the desk to flick the middle of his forehead, eliciting an “Ow” from Marco and a steely glare. “Never say that, Bodt,” she scolded him. She bent over the desk, gathering her purse from the floor. He picked up her cell phone from under the PA hand receiver and gave it to her, noticing the message notification from Connie.

“Your ride here?”

Reading the text, she nodded. “You got this?”

“Yeah, I’m good to finish up here. Get going.”

Marco ran through the motions of the closing routine, getting everything in order for the morning. He went out the staff door, locking it and turning to the parking lot. He walked the few blocks home slowly, the magazine hanging heavily in his pocket. The entire interaction with Jean had replayed in his mind twenty times already and it played through twice more. When he reached the blue door of his rowhouse and entered to complete silence, he grinned. The house was blissfully empty, his crazy roommate out for the evening.

_What to do… what to do…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, it took awhile, but Marco's finally out of the library. I hope to have more up soon.
> 
> Up next... learning more about Jean through Marco and meeting the other people in his life, including the "crazy roommate."


	3. I am a Librarian! (and part voyeur)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the life of the sexiest man alive... through the librarian with the biggest crush on him.

The little old house was cozy and warm. Worn wood floors covered with scattered colorful rugs. An assortment of table lamps lit up the rooms full of mismatched furniture mostly belonging to Marco. He kicked off his shoes into a pile by the door and went to the kitchen.

Marco stood with the fridge door open, perusing the selection of leftover containers. He grabbed a Tupperware bowl full of Sasha’s famous loaded potato soup and nuked it in the microwave. The magazine shifted and tapped against his leg as he moved, a constant reminder of his curiosity. He willed himself to resist looking in it for as long as possible.

As nice as the empty house was, the quiet was making it hard to fight the temptation. An old radio sat on the window sill above the sink. Marco flicked it on. _Sasha’s influence_ , he thought with a smirk, though she would probably whine about the jazz station it was currently tuned on and change it to oldies. Marco flopped onto one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, digging into his now-hot soup.

Ten minutes. He managed to last that long before the magazine was open on the table. Even that wait was mainly because he was afraid of spilling food on it. The scribbled note was still there, though it seemed unbelievable. Marco threaded a hand into his mop of dark brown hair and leaned heavily on it as he looked over the article.

Several intimate photos of Jean working on a Triumph motorcycle and relaxing at his home were spread over the pages along with a story. Again, the actor’s tight V-neck shirt hugged his chest like a second skin, though the short sleeves on this one gave a better view of the tattoos decorating his biceps. Beautiful, intricate coats of arms and other designs that weren’t immediately recognizable to Marco.

None of the pictures had Jean smiling, his gaze detached and a little… sad. No, that wasn’t right. His expression was closer to embarrassment, like Jean didn’t understand why he was being photographed. The same look he had when talking about using pickup lines and his books. Attraction and guilt mixed together, leaving Marco feeling warm. Reading the article left him feeling like a voyeur, a peeping Tom into Jean’s life. Not that the actor even let the interviewer dig that deeply.

 

 

>                 ‘…At the age of 25, this Montreal-born actor is the youngest to ever be named as People’s Sexiest Man of the Year. Hitting the acting world with a massive splash five years ago in _Survey Corps_ , he already has six major motion pictures that have earned over $500 million box office each. Jean Kirstein is known to be one of the most reclusive rising young stars in Hollywood.   And following his recent break-up, he is also one of its most eligible bachelors.’

Marco stopped reading, flicking his eyes back to the photos, his pulse racing slightly. _This is stupid. It doesn’t matter if he’s single._ The small flicker of hope had flamed up and was refusing to be stomped back down. The guilty curiosity gnawed at his stomach. He glanced to a section that had a quote emphasized.

 

 

>                ‘Kirstein still continues to bring his mother or younger sister to most Hollywood appearances even when dating someone. He also refuses to even discuss his romantic relationships, or lack thereof. “Look, I don’t know how many f*cking times I can say the same sh*t. _My personal life is my own!_ Who I goddamn choose to spend time with is my f*cking business.” The Canadian actor has been one of the biggest proponents of stronger limits on paparazzi and frequently drops completely off the radar between filming. This only adds further to the mystery of Jean Kirstein for his millions of fans around the world.’

The next pages held photos of Jean with his mother and sister at red carpet events. He looked genuinely happy to be with them, all three with the same dark blonde hair and similar features. Jean’s face was a little sharper and more defined, but the resemblance was noticeable. The pride the two women had for him was evident in their pleased smiles.

A low whistle slipped out at the remaining photos. Jean was with a trio of men in what appeared to be military style uniforms, probably costumes. One was a short, cranky looking man with black hair and the other two were towering blondes, imposing physically but with kind eyes. The caption below called them the “Survey Corps Musketeers.”

 _Now that is just unfair…_ The very last image was the four of them facing away from the camera, standing in a line from shortest to tallest, bare to the waist and showing off matching tattoos of blue and white geometric wings that covered their backs. ‘Wings of Freedom’ is what the notation called them, a celebration of _Survey Corps_ breaking into the top ten biggest box office movies.

 

 

>                 ‘Kirstein owes much of his success to being brought under the wing of Mike Zakarius, who discovered the younger actor on the _DeGrassi: The Next Generation_ production lot in Toronto. Zakarius insisted on casting Jean as the young trainee in the first _Survey Corps_ movie and, with the help of his co-stars Erwin Smith and Levi, launched him into stardom. The three mentors jokingly referred to Jean as the D’Artagnan to their Three Musketeers, and the names stuck.’

Marco chuckled softly. It fit perfectly with the brash young man he had met. He let his eyes linger on the pages a few moments longer before closing the magazine, his curiosity partially sated, and covered his face with his hands. _Acting like some teenager, swooning over a movie star. Maybe I should cut the photos out and tape them around my mirror._ The soft chime of his cell phone grabbed his attention. He tugged the phone out of a pocket and swiped to see a group text from Sasha and Connie and groaned.

Connie: Marco man wtf??

Sasha: I told him about the hottie

Connie: and ur an idiot

Sasha: pls tell me u gave him ur number

Marco: I gave him one of my business cards

Connie: yes!

Sasha: with ur cell?

Marco: … No

Sasha: man imma hit u so hard tomorrow

Marco: As long as you’re on time for work ;)

Connie: LMAO

Sasha: shuttup c.c

Connie: srsly tho man. u need to get out there

Sasha: yup

Marco: I know guys. Just trust me, he’s so far out of reach, he’s in another solar system.

Sasha: u really dont get it

Connie: so blind

Marco: ???

Sasha: nvm. U need company 2nite or is crazy out?

Marco: I’m alone. Had the rest of the soup you made me.

Sasha: XD

Connie: well if u want u can come over

Sasha: movie nite!

Marco: Nah, I’m good. Thanks though.

Marco: Hey… you guys ever see the Survey Corps movies?

Connie: yea

Sasha: Marco ur like the only person I know that hasn’t

Marco: (-_-) Now I feel dumb

Connie: got the box set

Sasha: next movie nite we’ll watch em

Connie: Mike Z is amazeballs

Sasha: nerd u know Erwin’s best

Marco: Alright guys. I’d be up for that. You both have fun.

Connie: nite!

Sasha: bye-bye!

 

With a sigh, Marco turned the phone’s screen off and set it down next to the magazine. He slouched in the chair, draping an arm over his eyes and trying to think about something – anything – other than Jean Kirstein. It was useless though. All he could see was a tattoo-covered back. Muttering, Marco got up and forced himself to keep busy.

Two hours later, the dishes were done, budget notes written for the weekly staff meeting, grocery list tacked to the fridge, and the children’s reading hour selections for the month posted on the library website. Marco was sprawled out in front of the cheap living room TV as he watched old episodes of _DeGrassi_ between crunches. He muttered quietly at the blonde teen currently on the screen, “Screw you, Jean, and your stupid undercut.” A throw pillow bounced off the smirking face looking back at him, mocking yet another indulgence of his curiosity.

_I am Marco Bodt, epitome of self-restraint._

 

\---------------------------

 

Morning came all too quickly. Marco barreled down the stairs and hit the floor with a loud thud as he missed the last step. Muttered curses sounded out from the first floor bedroom at the noise. _Damnit_ , Marco swore inwardly. His roommate had returned late last night, waking him and contributing to his lateness today.

The brunette jammed two slices of bread into an old metal toaster, banging around the kitchen as he pulled out a bottle of green tea and butter from the fridge. Toothbrush dangling from his lips, he gathered his keys and wallet, trying not to think about how much crap he was going to get from Sasha for being late.

“What cha doin’?” came his roommate’s voice. Marco glanced to the now open door and immediately regretted it. Hanji was leaning tiredly against the door frame, clad in boxers and a too-large undershirt, its sleeves cut off and revealing a little too much.

“Hanji... Shirt,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste, looking away. There was a clank as the toaster finished and popped up his bread. He spat in the sink and rinsed it out, not looking in his roommate’s direction as he answered, “Running late. Need to get to work.” A soft grunt came in response as Marco smeared butter on his toast and pressed the pieces together like a sandwich.

“Too bad… was gonna tell you a story that will make your balls shrink to the size of raisins.”

It took all Marco’s self-control to bite back a snappy response as he cringed. He had learned very quickly that, while sometimes intriguing, his roomie’s stories verged on epic in length and high in discomfort levels. Hanji looked honestly disappointed. Marco grabbed his drink as he darted out of the kitchen and to the front of the house, really not wanting to know what story could trigger that kind of reaction. He hollered a goodbye before ducking outside.

Marco inhaled his makeshift sandwich and washed it down with swigs of the cold tea. His feet pounded hard against the pavement as he practically ran the few blocks towards the gray stone walls and red roof of the library. The former church stood out among the newer structures near Trost’s downtown, old but beautiful, tall pillars holding up the overhanging roof along the front. The only thing missing was stained glass, but it had been too expensive to restore.

A single motorcycle was parked along the far end of the library parking lot. Marco slowed his stride to read the manufacturer name on the gas tank, cursing the small flutter of his stomach when he did. Triumph. _Just a coincidence_ , he tried to convince himself. He took the stairs two at a time, pausing at the large wooden front doors and pulling out his keys. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted over as he struggled with the heavy deadbolt.

“Morning, Polo.”

Marco nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. The bottle of tea slipped from his hand, crashing to the ground and shattering with a splash. Some of the liquid splattered on his legs as he tried to leap back from the broken glass. _Thank God I opted for black pants today._ He wanted to be annoyed – at himself mainly – but the thought was pushed from his mind by Jean’s over-loud burst of laughter.

Forcing his expression into an exaggerated scowl, Marco turned to where the actor was sitting behind one of the stone pillars. Beat-up and oil-stained jeans covered legs that were lazily stretched over the top of a dark blue helmet. His blue and white biker jacket was acting as a cushion on the cool stone. Coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, Jean looked… normal. And he had helmet head.

“You owe me a drink now,” Marco said, fighting a smile and the desire to ruffle Jean’s hair from its flattened state.

Jean’s laughter trailed off into a quiet chuckle as he nodded, stubbing out the cigarette on a heavy leather boot. The brunette turned back to the door, unlocking and holding it open for the other man. Gathering up his things, Jean walked past him with a passing nudge of an elbow. “Your card says the library opens at 8 am, Marco. You were five minutes late.”

His phony scowl cracked at that. Marco rolled his eyes and grinned. “There’s a first time for everything. Just don’t tell Sasha.” He grabbed a broom kept near the door and cleaned up the mess of glass outside. Connie’s car was just pulling into the lot as he finished.

A tame curse slipped out as he ducked inside. Jean was perched on the main desk waiting for him. Marco moved over to join him as fast as he could without running. “Um, Sash is here. And she has seen your stuff. Come with me,” he said, motioning for Jean to follow. The pair wove through the stacks to the back corner of the library where Marco opened a door labelled ‘Reading Room’ and lead the other man inside.

Soft light filtered in from the tall frosted glass windows. The room was one of his favorite places in the building. It was full of overstuffed furniture, a few tables, and two desks with computers. He caught the curious expression on Jean’s face and explained, “It can get a bit… noisy in the summer when there’s a lot of kids around. I refurbished one of the old vestry rooms into a place where adults can read or research in peace.”

Jean dropped his helmet and backpack on one of the tables before turning back to Marco. “This is actually fucking cool. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’ll be back in a little while. Gotta get things going for the day.”

The actor was already pulling out his books by the time Marco was through the door and into the main library. Sasha had walked in and stood at the main desk, arms loaded with Tupperware and travel mugs, a guilty look on her face. “Sorry I’m late, Marco! But I brought muffins and hot tea!”

“It’s alright, Sash.” Marco laughed and helped unload the goodies from his friend’s arms. They chatted for a few minutes about her night. Connie’s movie choices had apparently been terrible, so the friends had baked instead. Marco kept mum about his own viewing selections, only mentioning the work he had done.

Sasha offered to take over shelving duty for the day as penance for her tardiness and immediately grabbed the loaded cart from the night before. Marco picked two of the muffins along with some of the tea and went back to the reading room. He opened the door silently and poked his head in. Jean had made himself comfortable, stretched out on one of the couches.

The movement apparently caught the blonde’s eye and he looked up, smiling slightly. Marco tossed him one of the muffins, which Jean caught easily, and flopped onto a chair next to him. It was hard to resist staring, but he managed for the most part as they ate. Different conversation topics ran through his head, but he dismissed them all as silly. _What do you even talk about with someone famous?_ Jean seemed to be waiting for Marco to speak, but impatience won out.

“Well, what did you think?”

Red flushed Marco’s cheeks as he looked up and caught the gold eyes watching him. “About what?” he asked, trying to hide the twinge of embarrassment in his voice as he thought about his _DeGrassi_ mini-marathon.

“What you found out about me. What you Googled. Every last minute detail of my life. The things people look up on celebrities.” His tone had gained a harsh edge, accusatory.

Marco set the mug on a side table, his gaze down as he avoided a connection with Jean’s hard stare. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, still a tiny bit damp and curly at the ends from his rushed shower. “Honestly… I only read bits of the People article.”

“You’re full of shit, man.”

Brown eyes flashed back up at that as Marco bristled. Jean’s expression was painted with distrust and a touch of irritation, eyebrows pinched and mouth set in a grim line. The cold prickly shell was wrapping around him again, just like last night. Marco didn’t exactly blame him, but he was not going to wilt away at its presence. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Yeah, I kinda do. You look like a fucking strawberry over there. You’re not telling me something.”

Marco held back a snort. “A strawberry?”

“You… the blushing. All the damn freckles. Looks like a fucking strawberry.”

He laughed this time. The utter confusion on Jean’s face made it hard to stop. It eventually earned him a light punch to the leg. With a shake of his head, Marco grinned. “Sorry. I’ve just never been called that. A fruit, yes, but not specific ones.” He rubbed a hand over his lips and below his nose, trying to wipe off or at least calm his smile. The actor’s eyebrow quirked up. “I’m being honest, Jean. I read a little of the magazine story after I got home and ate dinner.” _And felt guilty enough about that much_ , he added silently.

Jean tilted his head with disbelief. “Really? Nothing else?”

Marco spoke into his palm as he ran it over his mouth again, “May have watched your _DeGrassi_ episodes…”

“Didn’t catch that.”

“I watched the episodes of _DeGrassi_ that you guest-starred in.” A loud smack filled the room as a dumbfounded Jean slapped his forehead. “What? You were good!”

The blonde dropped his face into his hands and started muttering. Marco had clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. After a minute, Jean lifted his head, resting a cheek on a balled up fist, squinting like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The shell had a new crack. “I just… and you just… what are you?” he sputtered.

In a flash of silly inspiration, Marco jumped to his feet, right fist curled over his heart. With every intention to break the actor’s mind, he rattled off one of his most used movie quotes, the one that made all his friends groan. “Look, I... I may not be an explorer, or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker, or a gunfighter, Mr. O'Con… Kirstein, but I am proud of what I am.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I… am a librarian!”

Jean was still in a heap on the floor, laughing and gasping, when Marco left the room to actually work. Even the crankiest of patron couldn’t budge the self-satisfied smile that was plastered to his face for the rest of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, I've never actually read the People "Sexiest Man of the Year" articles, so I took some liberties with that. I am having a good time sprinkling Notting Hill and SnK/AoT references in here. I hope they amuse you guys as much as me.
> 
> I hope to have more up soon. Feedback here or on Tumblr would be immensely appreciated.
> 
> And Evie's quote from The Mummy was practically a requirement. Hope it made you guys laugh.
> 
> Edit: The fabulous HdotK surprised the utter shit out of me and made some amazing art of this last scene for the Red Beanie Thursday feature ([here](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/90670321713/in-a-flash-of-silly-inspiration-marco-jumped-to)). Go check it out!


	4. This can't be real life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interesting events leave Marco contemplating that these kinds of things don't happen in real life.
> 
> (Bonus: A look into Jean's POV prior to him showing up at the library in the morning)

[Earlier in the morning – Chicago – Jean’s apartment]

Jean woke up with a gasp. _What the fuck was that? Shit… where am I?_ He looked around, the room vaguely familiar. The bright lights of the Chicago skyline filtered into the high-rise apartment’s tall glass windows. _Oh right._ The dream had been… strange. Like something out of one of his movies. It was fading fast from his memory, but one thing had stood out. That damn librarian.

The last wisps of the dream filtered out into the darkened room, leaving him frustrated and wide awake. He rolled over with a groan and looked at the glowing red numbers of the clock. 3:35. A sudden thud made him jump, heart pounding at first until he remembered. The book he had been reading earlier. Long fingers groped along the edge of the bed, snagging it from where it had fallen.

Eyes blinking to adjust to the lack of light, he played with the pages of the borrowed book, the bizarre encounter replaying in his mind. _Marco. What the hell kind of name is Marco?_ Something about the freckled guy was bugging him and he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t seem real.

There was a buzz from his phone. A reminder, along with the little flashing light, that he had been ignoring all texts and calls from his friends for the past, _fuck_ , thirty-six hours or so. Picking it up and squinting at the overly-bright screen, he scanned the notifications. One from his sister, letting him know she had arrived in London safely caught his attention. _She’d be awake…_

Jean tapped the option to call her, grinning when she picked up immediately. “Petit frère!” The smile grew at the sound of her voice. It always made him feel like home. He snuggled deeper under his covers and let her talk about the flight, London, everything had been happening with her over the past few days. It wasn’t long before she noticed that Jean was not talking much. “Something wrong, Jean?”

He sighed quietly. How to explain something like this? “Not really wrong, just… odd.”

“How so?”

“You ever meet anyone who didn’t know who I was? At least, recently?”

“Not that I can remember off-hand, but you know me. I respect your privacy and don’t really bring it up unprompted.”

“I met someone who said he didn’t know about me.”

“Definitely odd.”

“That’s what I thought. But he seemed sincere… and just… _nice._ Like… saintly levels of niceness.”

“With your prickly attitude?”

Jean snorted at that. “Surprisingly, yeah. Even teased me a bit.”

“You almost sound like you want to see him again.”

 _Do I? Is that why I’m dreaming about the guy?_ He pinched the narrow bridge of his nose, trying to unscramble his thoughts.

“I dunno. I just… it’s hard to trust people.”

“I know. I’ve seen you get burned too, sweetie.”

Prickles of anger spread across his skin at the bad memories. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I… signed a magazine for him. That damn People article.”

“He asked you to do that?”

“No… I just kinda did. Kept checking eBay all night to see if it showed up for sale.”

“Did it?”

“Not yet.”

“Jean… You know I love you. Just… be careful. And get some rest.”

“Thanks for being there for me.”

“Always. Good night, Jean.”

“Night.”

The phone screen flickered off as the call disconnected. Jean lay quietly in bed, trying to calm his mind and see if he could fall back asleep, but it was hopeless. Covers were whipped off and he pulled on some old clothes, gathering some things that he’d need and throwing his borrowed books into a beat-up backpack. _Couldn’t even spend one night in this place. Sad._

His Triumph was under a cover in the building’s parking garage. He neatly folded it up and tucked it into a storage closet before firing up the motorcycle, the throaty roar echoing on the concrete. She sounded good, even after being unused for a little while. Slipping a blue helmet over his head, he settled onto the bike and drove out into the lightly populated streets of Chicago, heading back in the direction of the quiet little suburb of Trost.

 

*********

 

“Ground control to Marco Bodt. Come in, Marco.”

His head snapped up as Sasha interrupted his fifth attempt to actually read the wordy email from one of the members of the Board of Trustees. It was hard to focus when his thoughts kept drifting back to the reading room and how badly he wanted to return. How much he wanted to hear that wild laughter again. Looking at Sasha’s intensely curious expression, he plastered on his sweetest smile.

“Yes, control, reading you five-by-five,” Marco replied, earning a giggle from the young woman.

Sasha slid her rolling chair over close to him, and leaned in to study his face. His warm cheeks both received a tentative poke. “You’re blushing,” she stated, matter-of-factly, “And zoning out. How very un-Marco of you.”

A laugh escaped from his chest as his cheeks reddened further, higher and more nervous sounding than he wanted. Nose crinkled and eyes squinted, she glanced at the computer monitor and back to his face. “You’re acting like I caught you cruising porn sites or something.”

“Oh, no no no, nothing like that. Just one of these silly status emails. Hard to concentrate on them,” he said, trying to deflect her curiosity. He cringed inwardly at the crack in his voice. _Real smooth, Bodt._

“Uh… huh. Sure thing.” She was not entirely convinced, but at least moved away from his immediate personal space, spinning her chair around as she slid away. Marco barely managed to suppress the sigh of relief that tried to sneak out. “You need a break,” Sasha said, turning on her own computer. “It’s almost 1:30 and you haven’t taken your lunch yet. Get out of here before I smack you like I threatened last night.”

Marco hadn’t even noticed the time. Granted, he’d been snacking on the muffins most of the morning, so it wasn’t like hunger was gnawing at his stomach. “I think I’ll do just that. Come back fresh,” he replied with a smile. “And Sasha… I’d like to see you try.” The young woman glanced back his way, waggling her eyebrows. It was unlikely she’d let that challenge go, but that was for later.

An older woman was approaching the desk with her books as he started to rise. Not a hair out of place and dressed neatly in a flower patterned skirt and blouse, Mrs. Pixis was a long-time patron of the library. And she did not look pleased. Sasha tried to get her attention, but she was undeterred and went directly to Marco.

“Young Mr. Bodt, I just thought you’d like to know that someone is _asleep_ back in the reading room,” she told him with a small huff of distaste. “And he looks most… undesirable. He’s going to leave a mess all over the nice furniture with those dirty clothes of his.”

Reaching over the desk, Marco gently took one of her hands in both of his, nodding sagely. “Mrs. Pixis. Thank you so much for bringing this to my attention.” He kept his voice even, polite, and kind. “I will deal with it immediately. I was actually just heading out to have lunch at your husband’s diner, so I’ll stop in there before I leave.” Waving a hand in his co-worker’s direction, he continued, “I’ll let Sasha get you all checked out. I appreciate you visiting us today.”

The wink he flashed Sasha was quick and nearly made her laugh. He could already hear the ‘Saint Marco’ taunts that were sure to be lobbed around when he returned. As Marco walked away, the older woman called after him, “Mr. Bodt, will you be doing the children’s reading time this weekend?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. I cannot wait. Will you be bringing all the grandchildren?”

“Of course, especially knowing that. They adore you, my dear.”

His cheeks flushed faintly at the compliment and he waved to them both. Mrs. Pixis was already tutting happily about her books, completely pacified by her favorite librarian. There was no doubt in his mind who was asleep in the reading room. Marco was chuckling softly as his steps lightened so much that he was practically skipping. Sasha had been curious about his trips to the room earlier, especially given his good mood, but he’d been able to deflect most of her prying.

Since school was still in session, the library tended to be fairly empty during the day. With the exception of those who fell in retirement age ranges, like Mrs. Pixis, of course. The few patrons he passed were engrossed in their books or scouring the shelves. Not even soft murmurs could be heard, the high raftered ceilings swallowing up all noise. This place always filled him with peace, like he could have been a priest in another life.

Marco opened the door to the reading room just wide enough to peek in. Sure enough, Jean was lying across one of the couches, fast asleep. One arm was thrown across his face to block out the sunlight streaming in from the tall windows, legs askew and moderately uncomfortable looking. Soft snoring drifted across the pin-drop quiet room. _Of course he snores._ Marco grinned at the small imperfection. The actor would be quite amused to hear that someone had thought he looked undesirable and unclean in this state.

Temptation reared its ugly head, taunting him to take a picture of Jean like this. Had it been Sasha, Connie, or any of his other friends, it would already be done and posted online. The thought was stamped quickly down though. _You barely know him and any invasion of his privacy would not go over well, humorous as it may be_ , he scolded himself. Marco shook his head as he approached, noting the crinkled pages of the book lying haphazardly across Jean’s chest.

The brunette reached out, intending to wake the other man. His breath hissed in – overly loud in his ears – as he got a closer look at the sleeping face. There was the tiniest of smiles – delicate and sweet – on Jean’s lips. Two days’ worth of dark blonde stubble dusted the angular lines of his cheeks and jaw, which ticked almost imperceptibly. Marco wondered how many people, if any, ever got to see Jean like this. Vulnerable. No walls protecting him. Dreaming of something that made him happier than he normally appeared when awake.

Tentatively, still holding his breath, Marco gave the blonde’s shoulder a shake. Jean muttered in response, “Lil’ longer… s’ill sleepy,” the lilting French-Canadian accent coming through. The librarian’s snickering made him stir a little more. Another shake, this time a little firmer. With a shift of his muscled arm, Jean peeked out, eyes blinking rapidly as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The smile that had been so slight grew larger when it settled on Marco, much to his surprise. Within the span of a few rapid heartbeats, it melted away. Jean’s expression didn’t exactly return to its normal scowl but it close enough to make his heart sink.

Jean groaned softly as he struggled to sit up. “Hey Marco. How long I been out?”

“Not sure. It was long enough for one of my little retired ladies to find you and complain about the dirty ruffian making a mess of the furniture with his oily jeans.” The blonde cast a glance down at his clothes before looking to the smudges he had left on the upholstery and cringed. “Oh hey, didn’t say that to make you feel bad.”

“I’ll replace it,” he mumbled, ignoring Marco.

“Jean.” The other man’s eyes locked with his. “It can be cleaned.” Marco tilted his head, trying to coax a smile out with one of his own. “And you will be doing the scrubbing.” The resulting eye roll made him laugh. “For now though, feel up for some lunch? You do owe me a drink for the one I dropped this morning.”

A grumbling noise from Jean’s stomach confirmed his hunger before he even opened his mouth. The faintest blush darkened his ears. “I think I can agree to that, since you won’t let me buy you a couch.” He smirked at Marco, only giving in slightly. Digging through a backpack that had been resting on the floor, he pulled out a faded navy blue cap with a large 'C' across it and a pair of eyeglasses. Sleep disheveled hair was quickly hidden and the thick framed glasses gave Jean a vaguely hipster look.

It wasn’t much of a disguise, but he certainly looked different. Marco’s gaze dropped when Jean caught him staring appreciatively… again. Jean coughed to cover a laugh and gathered up his things. The pair tucked the motorcycle helmet and bag into a small storage cabinet in the room, even though Marco tried to assure Jean that his possessions were perfectly safe even sitting out. Jean started to walk towards the door into the interior of the library, but the librarian called him back.

“Hold on a sec, Jean. I have a better exit to use,” he explained, his tone a touch conspiratorial. The other man stopped and turned, eyeing him with confusion. Marco was standing against the wall, fingers sliding over one of the aged wood panels. “The beautiful thing about old buildings… they have stories too.” There was a click as what appeared to be a knot in the wood vanished under his touch and a crack in the shape of a thin door appeared in the wall. Jean swore quietly, his eyes sparkling with intrigue as he ran across the room to investigate.

Behind the door was a narrow hallway, lit dimly by a few lights that Marco had installed. It was less than half the width of a normal hall, basically an expanded gap between the walls of two rooms. “Wait, you have a fucking secret passage?” The other man stuck his head inside, barely holding back the child-like glee.

“A few, actually. There’s a hidden room behind the old confessionals too. This was an Underground Railroad stop.” Marco led him into the passage, closing the door behind them. “It’s… well, it’s kinda why Sasha tends to play all the Scooby Doo songs after we close. She thinks this place would be a perfect setting for some ghost story or something.”

Jean’s cackling laughter echoed against the stone walls as he followed Marco in the confined space. Tingling warmth ran over his skin at the sound, his heartbeat picking up. The exit door was heavy, covered as it was with a brick façade matching the exterior of the old church. Marco pushed against the brass handle, grunting as he struggled to open the door. A pair of hands stretched out against the surface on either side of him, adding extra power to his pitiful efforts. He could feel the heat of Jean’s body directly behind him. _Too close_. Distracted as he was, when the door finally moved, Marco found himself stumbling and nearly falling to the ground.

“Whoa there!” Hands grabbed for purchase around Marco’s waist, steadying him easily.

Marco swallowed hard, turning his head to look at the other man. Jean’s face was a little too close for comfort, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “Thanks,” he choked out, cheeks turning red. Slowly blinking eyes were the only response. “I uh, I think I’m good.” Disappointment panged his stomach as the blonde released his hold, shaking his head and stepping back awkwardly. Jean reached up a hand to scratch at the short hair along the underside of the blue hat. Uncomfortable tension settled between both men as they exited the passage.

Stretched out in front of them was a small walled-in courtyard ringed with flowerbeds and growing trees. Marco had been slowly turning it into a place for meditation and quiet reading, but it still needed a lot of work. A soft breeze carried the fragrance of lilacs and other flowers; familiar scents he drew in as he felt the tightness in his chest lessen. There was a click as Jean managed to get the door closed by himself.

With a nod of his head, Marco led him out through an arched opening into the alley behind the library. It was surprisingly easy to make small talk as they walked through the older downtown district; Jean asked a lot of questions about the history of the town and church. And once Marco got started talking about _his_ library, it was hard to get him to stop. He was a good ten steps ahead – gesturing excitedly as he talked about restorations – when he noticed the other man was no longer at his side.

Scowling at the iPhone in his hand, Jean had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. If looks could kill, well, the phone would probably resemble a smoking piece of charcoal. Marco hadn’t seen the actor this angry. “Everything ok?” he called out.

“Fuck!” Jean swore loudly, earning a dirty look from a passing older gentleman. “What the absolute fuck?!” Now worried, Marco returned to the other man’s side, apologizing to the passerby, who gave him an equally withering glare. _Yeesh._ Jean glanced up at him from the screen, which was showing a mostly one-sided text conversation. “Gimme a sec here, man,” he grunted, annoyance heavy in his voice, as he pulled up a contact and made a call. Marco eased away, resting on the low sill of a nearby shop window. He pulled out his own phone, looking over a few messages that he hadn’t read, doing his best impression of an embarrassed fly on the wall. _Don’t mind me. Just sitting here and pretending I’m not listening to your call._

The actor didn’t even bother with a greeting when the other person picked up. “Well fuck you too.” Or maybe _they_ didn’t. “You called my damn mother and sister?! What gave you the right?” Marco’s eyebrow quirked up. Involving Jean’s family was definitely a touchy subject. Duly noted. “You really think me getting injured or killed wouldn’t be national fucking news?” The actor started pacing, his free hand clenching and spreading open like he was barely resisting the urge to hit something or someone. “I told you I needed some damn space, some time to myself. You didn’t even give me two days! It’s not like I ask that much!”

A growl of frustration roared from the blonde man. The few people walking along the street started crossing to the other side. Marco cringed. _He definitely tends to draw attention to himself_. “ANN-IE!” he yelled into the phone, apparently to silence the other person. The brunette was finding himself hoping wasn’t a girlfriend, especially given the tone of voice. “ANNIE! You aren’t even listening! No, I don’t want to talk about those shitty contracts again.” _So probably not a girlfriend, but who knows._ Marco’s thoughts were whirling. He tried to keep his expression disinterested but had a feeling he was failing.

“NO! Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t need to track my damn phone!” Jean’s voice pitched high, his face getting redder by the second. “‘Cause I’ll just fucking tell you, if it keeps you from doing that crap. I’m in Chicago.” Marco smirked at the half-truth. “No, do not send them… Fucking hell. I said NO.” Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as Jean sighed. “Annie. Please. They have their own lives. Don’t send them out here like overgrown babysitters.” The blonde’s shoulders dropped, dejected. “Tell them to call me first, please. Before they come out here, IF they come out here.”

The call must have ended there. Jean jammed the phone into his pocket, yanking off his hat and angrily raking a hand through the longer blonde hair. Marco watched him silently from the windowsill for several minutes. Pacing, growling, cursing in English and French, the actor slowly drove the librarian’s blood pressure up, just as an observer. When Jean came a little too close, Marco reached out and caught his hand, pulling him to a dead stop. Amber eyes bore furiously into his brown ones, but he refused to back down.

“Jean. People are staring. Correction, _have_ been staring this whole time. I know you probably don’t want too much attention drawn to you, but you are utterly failing at that right now,” he said, using the tone he normally reserved for upset children. “Let’s just go and get some food.” Marco stood, not releasing his grip around the other man’s wrist, and led him down the street. Jean was too surprised to protest.

\----

Pixis’ Place was one of those diners that was a relic of the 1950s. Shiny metal tables, bright red benches, a long white counter with round stools, black and white tiled floors, and a jukebox in the corner playing actual records. It may have been old, but it was immaculate. Dot wouldn’t have it any other way. All of the staff called out in greeting as they entered, along with a few of the regulars at the counter. A pig-tailed brunette young woman walked over, two menus in hand and a kind smile on her face.

“Hey there, Marco,” she said sweetly.

“Afternoon, Mina. How’s the new baby?” he asked, genuinely interested.

The waitress grinned and led them to an empty booth near the back. “Oh my goodness! She’s getting so big. I’ll have to bring her by the library some time so you can see her. I just started working a few shifts to get back into the swing of things.”

“Well, don’t push yourself too hard,” he said as he gave her hand a small pat. Jean had slipped wordlessly onto one of the benches and took an offered menu while Marco chatted away. Mina eventually left them after dropping off two glasses of water and silverware wrapped in black cloth napkins. Marco didn’t even touch his menu, already well acquainted with everything on it. He gently folded his hands and turned his gaze to Jean.

“It’s like some old sitcom with you,” Jean muttered from behind the menu.

Head tilting, Marco snorted. “How so?”

“Everyone knows your name around here.”

“Ah, the irony of Jean Kirstein, world-famous actor, complaining about everyone being familiar with who I am.”

The menu dropped fractionally as Jean’s eyes peered over the top, smile lines crinkling in the corners. “Shuddup.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Marco grinned. “I’ve lived here most of my life. Aside from a few years in Chicago while I went to school, I’ve been a bit of a… permanent feature around Trost.” Reaching across the table, he flipped Jean’s menu to the back page. “And I highly recommend the breakfast menu for your first visit here. It’s Dot’s specialty, particularly his omelets.” Something sparked in Jean’s eyes as the lines deepened along with his smile.

Mina returned for their orders: Belgian waffle with strawberries for Marco and Dot’s ‘special’ omelet for Jean. After taking a sip of his iced tea, Marco drew in a breath, building up a little courage. “Can I ask… who was on the phone earlier? I can’t imagine that was a girlfriend.”

Jean shook his head violently, screwing up his face with mild disgust. “Annie? Oh fuck no. Not on this earth.” Jean chewed on the corner of his lip, probably realizing how harsh his comment had sounded. “She’s my agent. Her skills are second to none, but sometimes she goes a little overboard.” The actor eyed Marco curiously. “I thought you said you read that article.”

“I did, most of it,” Marco said, unsure of what the other man was driving at.

“I know it mentions I’m single.”

Red flushed across freckled cheeks. “Well… it does… but… I didn’t know if you still were,” Marco stammered.

“Fucking strawberry,” Jean teased him with a smirk.

The brunette stuck out his tongue, feeling a touch juvenile, as the blush deepened. “Whatever,” he huffed. Jean chortled quietly and took a sip of his soda. Marco shifted in his seat, leaning forward onto his elbows. “If you’re feeling like sharing then, who is Annie sending?”

A dark blonde eyebrow twitched upwards. “My two best, non-actor friends.”

“Why wouldn’t you want friends around?” Marco asked.

“Because it can get complicated. They’re her friends too.”

He didn’t entirely understand, but he nodded all the same. Best not to push too hard when the other man was prone to clamp down at any moment. Marco gave him a cheerful smile, looking up at the pictures of 50s celebrities on the walls.  Sinatra's 'Fly Me to the Moon' was playing on the jukebox and his foot tapped along with the beat.  “I can’t imagine not having my friends around. I apparently collect them like I collect books. At least that’s what they all tell me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, Bodt.”

Their conversation drifted into easy banter. Jean explaining that the ‘C’ on his hat was actually for the Montreal Canadiens hockey team – he was utterly fanatic about them – and not the Cubs or Bears. Marco, of course, had to warn him that he was in Blackhawks territory. An amusing thought flitted through his head: _Eren’s never gonna let me hear the end of this… falling for a hockey fan when I said it would never happen._ Marco succeeded in blowing the actor’s mind by telling him that he had actually earned a master degree to be a librarian and that, yes, this had been his lifelong goal. Which then brought the discussion back to all the work Marco had done in the library. Jean seemed more than happy to let him control the conversation, and skillfully avoided talking too much about himself.

Mina brought out their food, barely registering to the two men as they talked beyond a quick ‘thank you’. One bite of their food and the table descended into near silence, with the exception of occasional little noises of happiness coming from the blonde. Marco’s lips twitched into a tiny smile each time he heard one. Sagging back against the hard red plastic, Jean let out a groan of satisfaction, his hand draped over his stomach.

“That was… perfect.”

“Told ya.”

Jean grunted a confirmation, lips curving into a lopsided smile. Marco flagged down Mina for their bill, which she handed over. The actor snatched it from his grasp immediately, tugging the appropriate amount of bills out of his wallet. A blue plastic card fell out and onto the table, _F &H’s Stop and Sleep_ printed across it. Jean cursed and shoved it back inside the pocket, but it was too late. Marco had seen it and just _had_ to know now.

“Staying in town, then? I thought you had a place in Chicago,” Marco asked, eyebrows raised. His finger brushed under his nose as he watched the other man squirm, suppressing a small giggle.

Huffing out a breath of annoyance, Jean rubbed the back of his neck. “Saw that, huh?” Perfect teeth were chewing on his bottom lip again. It was hard for Marco to tear his eyes away and return them to match Jean’s gaze when it rose back up. “Seems as good a place to hide as any. Makes it easier than driving all the way from Chicago every day.”

“Planning on sticking around for a while then?”

All he got was a big shrug. Marco waited a beat, noticing that Jean was still mulling over the question. “I honestly don’t know. Something about this place just feels right for where my head’s at. It’s part of why I stopped here when I was just driving around yesterday. The library, well, it just kinda seemed a good place to research. This kind of role isn’t one you can just run a web search on.” An idea sparked in Marco’s head, but he kept quiet for the moment, murmuring his understanding.

Jean climbed out of the booth and headed towards the door, waiting patiently as Mina called Marco over to the counter. The young woman leaned close, whispering excitedly. “Marco! He’s so cute. Are you dating him?”

 _Why is everyone under the impression I have a chance in the world with Jean?_ He smirked at the thought, shaking his head. “Nope. He’s visiting town and we chatted it up at the library.”

“Well poo. You deserve someone as nice looking as that.” She looked in Jean’s direction, squinting her eyes. “You know, he almost looks like that one actor.”

“Yeah, he says he gets that a lot. Totally baffles him though. He doesn’t see the resemblance,” Marco said, doing his best to cover Jean. He leaned in to kiss the woman on the cheek, making her giggle with delight. “Bring that sweet baby girl around soon. Can’t wait to see her!”

He joined Jean at the door, pushing it open for them both. Jean looked a tad sullen and had been eyeing the young waitress before stepping outside. Marco bumped his shoulder against the blonde’s as they walked, jolting him out of whatever thoughts he was stuck in. “What was with the evil eye directed at Mina? Not good enough service for you?” he teased.

Jean shrugged a single shoulder, non-committal. “She an ex or one of your collection of friends or something?” he asked in a quiet voice. Marco almost wasn’t sure he had heard him.

“Mina? Oh she’s definitely not an ex, just an old friend who was a year behind me in school. Did you not catch my comment this morning about being called a fruit?” It was the actor’s turn to blush. Marco burst into a giggling fit at his discomfort. “Sorry, Jean. I tend to be a bit blunter about it. I’m gay.”

“Oh.”

“Well, that’s a better response than I sometimes get,” Marco said, laughter still lingering in his voice. His mind returned to the earlier idea he had, forgetting about Jean’s odd response. “Hey, I have an idea about your research. I have some friends at the VFW who might be able to get you in touch with some veterans. I find first-hand information more useful than anything else.”

The actor’s eyes lit up. “You’d be willing to help me with that?”

Marco stopped in his tracks. This forced Jean to do the same, turning to look at him incredulously. “Seriously, Kirstein. You act like you’ve never had people do nice things for you.” He shook his head at the actor. “Of course I’m going to help you. Can’t have you making more action movies I never intend to see.” That comment earned him a punch in the shoulder, but it was worth it. Jean was quiet for the rest of the walk back, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His expression was one of intense contemplation, so Marco left him to his thoughts. Nothing could burst his good mood at this point, and he was happy to hang on to the feeling.

When they returned to the library, Marco let them in through a service entrance in the rear, avoiding most of the patrons and thankfully Sasha. Jean gathered his things and left through the same door. But… not until he had exchanged cell numbers with Marco and made plans to meet up the next day, since it was the librarian’s free day. For the second time in as many days, Marco was looking in disbelief at Jean Kirstein’s name, this time in his contacts instead of an autographed magazine. _This stuff isn’t supposed to happen in real life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little peak into Jean's side of things for this chapter. I don't intend to write full ones from his POV, but may add little side-shots like that in the future when I feel it will help his character development or the story-telling.
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait between chapters. I have two other writing projects I'm working on and they can be immensely distracting. (-_-)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this little installment. I'm finding it hard to keep the build slow when my little shipper heart is just screaming to have them KISS.
> 
> Come join me over on [my Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com) for occasional teases. The first portion of this chapter from Jean's POV was actually posted there two weeks ago.


	5. Friends and Motorcycles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is terrible at keeping secrets and Jean is even worse at making friends.

The sun was just starting to brush the tops of the buildings in downtown Trost as Marco stepped out of the library, gym bag slung over his shoulder. Sasha was chattering away on her phone with Connie. He was running late, Mikasa too. Some kind of pile-up on the main thoroughfare into Chicago had tied them up beyond the end of their shifts.

Marco swung the bag against his back as he locked the doors for the night. Thursday night was game night for the community co-op volleyball league. It was the one weeknight that he was able to wrangle most of his friends together. They weren’t the best team, but it was a ton of fun.

It was only a few blocks to the community center from the library. Sasha had whined a bit about having to walk, since Connie wasn’t going to be able to be able to pick them up in time, but Marco managed to convince her that it was a good warm-up. They set off together along the semi-busy streets of Trost.

Trost Community Center was a single-story modern building, set off a little ways from downtown. It had plain white clapboard sided walls and a red roof to match of most of the structures in town. A large number of children and adults were coming and going to various activities, which was pretty typical even for the middle of the week. The arched roof of the attached gymnasium rose above the main building, yellow light spilling out of high set windows.

Marco spotted their group of friends waiting outside the doors and hollered a greeting across the parking lot. Breaking into a sprint despite Sasha’s protests, he closed the remaining distance in seconds. Everyone from the team – excluding Connie and Mikasa – was there. Warm smiles appeared on all the faces as Marco approached.

“Hey Marco, Mikasa let us know that she and Connie would be running late,” a brunette male said, leaning on the back of his blonde husband’s wheelchair with their hands entwined.

“Yeah, Eren. Connie called us,” Marco replied with a small nod. “Hopefully they won’t be too late.”

“I could always play,” the blonde piped up, earning him a hair ruffle from Eren.

Everyone in the group chuckled lightly. Marco reached up, running his finger below his nose as if contemplating the situation. With a slow shake of his head, he mused, “No, probably best not to have you play. That would just be cruel to put your skills to use on the court, Armin. But, I do expect some excellent coaching from the sidelines.” Marco grinned at his friend, holding up a fist for a bump, which was happily returned.

“Tch, you’re a dork, Bodt.”

“Oh Ymir, be nice, please.”

“I’m always nice to my fellow freckled one, Krista.”

Marco turned to a pair of young women – a tall brunette with a small smattering of freckles and a tiny blonde – and found himself suppressing a giggle. Ymir was resting her arms on Krista’s shoulders just like Eren was on Armin’s chair. She caught the librarian’s gaze shifting between the couples and scowled at him, shifting to her girlfriend’s side and hooking an elbow around her neck.

The middle finger she scratched at her chin with was a familiar sight. Marco rolled his eyes and smirked. Only Krista could melt that tough exterior. As the thought crossed his mind, the little blonde stood on her toes, brushing a freckled cheek with a kiss that instantly softened the grumpy expression on Ymir’s face.

His gaze settled on the last member of the group, opening his arms. “Hey Moblit.” The nervous looking male brushed sandy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled back. He stepped into Marco’s arms with a little hesitancy. Pulling back slightly, hands holding narrow shoulders, Marco frowned. “What’s wrong? Where’s Jane? I thought she was going to start coming to these games.”

The deep sigh told him everything. “You guys split up? I’m sorry, bro.”

“Me too. I thought I finally found a good one. I guess the search goes on,” Moblit replied, eyes dropping to the pavement as he stepped away.

“Well, you were too good for her anyways,” Marco said, trying to inject as much positivity into his voice as possible.

“Damn if you two aren’t the unluckiest pair of brothers,” Sasha teased good-naturedly as she arrived. Marco shot her a pleading look that she laughed off. The young woman clapped his stepbrother on the shoulder, giving him a small shake. Moblit nudged her with an elbow, more than used to the ribbing.

“That’s not what I hear,” Krista chimed in.

“Eh?” Marco raised an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, it’s just that I ran into Mina a little bit ago.”

Marco cringed. _Oh no._

“And she said that Marco had a lunch date at Pixis’ Place today.”

And started to flush red. _Oh dear God, no._

“A _really_ good looking lunch date.”

All eyes were now on him. _Please don’t let this be happening._

Sasha pounced on Krista, grabbing both her hands and dancing excitedly. “Was he a little shorter than Marco with a Dorito build?” The little blonde nodded. Marco closed his eyes and wished that the sidewalk would just swallow him up whole. It refused to comply.

“She didn’t get the greatest look at him, since he was wearing a baseball cap and glasses.”

There was an almost inhuman squeal that came from his co-worker. She whirled on him. “Marco Bodt! I KNEW you were keeping something from me today!” His shoulder received a hard slap, snapping his eyes open to meet her glaring up at him. Marco shrugged sheepishly, his face so hot that it should be glowing.

Realization glinted in Sasha’s eyes. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! He was back in the reading room, wasn’t he? That’s why you wanted to wake that sleeping guy! It was HIM!” Her arms raised up in a victory pose. Whether it was for Marco or herself was anyone’s guess.

Marco’s hands flew to his face. _Crap crap crap crap_ … _This is not good._ He’d barely had time to process what this developing… thing… was with Jean. True, he was attracted to him and thought they were getting along well, but cripes. It had only been twenty-four hours. Now everyone was rapidly firing questions his way.

“Who is he?”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“How did I not hear about this before?”

“When were you going to tell us?”

“What’s his name?”

“Is he single?”

“Where’s he from?”

“Did you finally get his number?”

“Is he really as good looking as Mina said?”

“What’s he do for a living?”

“He’s not a Cubs fan is he?”

All Marco could think about was the look on Jean’s face when he put up his walls. The hurt, the fear. How could he keep Jean’s secret without hurting his friends’ feelings or outright lying to them? His mind was rushing and loud, his heart thudding. It was all too much, too quick, too hard.

Then he felt it. _Not this, not now, not here._ Rising heat spread through his body, his head getting light and airy, limbs heavy. His hands fell away from his eyes, his gaze locking on Armin while the world became overly bright and started fading at the edges. Blackness began to shrink his field of vision. All sensations Marco recognized as he now struggled against them, even if it had been awhile since they last tortured him. He managed to mouth ‘Fainting’ to his small friend, whose eyes widened.

“Oh no. Moblit, grab him, quick!” Someone – Armin probably – had said. It was hard to hear him.

Supportive hands just barely managed to slip under his arms before his legs went slack. Armin spoke up firmly, ordering everyone to back up and give Marco air. Moblit gently eased him down to the grass, helping Marco to put his head between his knees as he fought to stay conscious. Eyes pinched shut, he pulled in long breaths, trying to settle his heart rate.

“That’s it. Deep breaths. You’ll be ok,” his stepbrother murmured encouragingly from somewhere next to him.

“Guys, why don’t you all go inside and get ready. Mo and I will take care of him,” Armin said, his voice still muffled by the cotton in Marco’s ears. Delicate fingers threaded through shaggy brunette locks. He recognized the touch, calming and reassuring. One last long breath and Marco opened his eyes. Armin had moved closer to him, leaning forward in his chair. The little blonde gave his hair a small tug as he smiled. “Need a haircut, buddy.”

A meek nod was all Marco could summon. His stepbrother held out a bottle of water that he had pulled from his bag. “Thanks,” Marco managed to croak, taking a grateful drink. No longer blushing, Marco figured he must look like hell, given how the other two were hovering.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you do that, Marco,” Armin said, concern lacing his voice.

“It’s been… a strange day,” Marco muttered. His voice had become a bit clearer, his head still pressed against his bent knees between sips of water. Short nails scratched gently into his scalp, soothing him.

“I’d say so. A fainting spell?” Moblit spoke softly from where he crouched next to him. “Do you want me to try and postpone the match?”

Marco shook his head, groaning as the dizziness hit him with a wave of nausea. “No… I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Just head in and get everyone ready.”

His stepbrother tsked as he leaned in for a much deeper hug than earlier. It was returned gratefully. The elder male actually seemed reluctant to leave, but something shared over Marco’s head seemed to push that out of his mind. Marco tried to catch it, but he was too late. Armin’s face revealed little when he looked.

“You can go in too, Armin,” he told the blonde as Moblit left them.

“Like hell I’m leaving my best friend when he’s so stressed about some new guy that he nearly faints,” Armin said with a hard look and a dismissive wave of his free hand. “You’re holding back, big time. It’s really unlike you to keep things from us.”

Only Armin’s hand in his hair kept his head from dropping down again. Marco bit his lip and struggled to meet Armin’s gaze. The other man knew him too well. An icy grip settled around his heart, the guilt of lying. It wasn’t going to work. _He’s my best friend, and hell, ex-fiancé. I hope Jean will understand_. With a sigh, he finally looked into the cool blue eyes. “This is going to sound stupid.”

“Try me.”

“He’s famous.”

“Famous? Like what? A well-known professor or writer or something?”

Marco squirmed slightly. _Even Armin can’t picture me with someone more well-known._ “More than that. A lot more.”

Eyebrows slowly disappeared under the shaggy fringe of blonde bangs. There was a small pull on Marco’s hair. “You really going to make me play ‘Twenty Questions’ or just tell me?” The little blonde was showing faint traces of exasperation towards his normally truthful and open friend.

“You can’t tell anyone, even Eren, until I run this by the guy. Alright?” His voice was meek, worried.

The look he received was ‘Like you seriously need to ask’ in its purest form. Armin’s fingers slipped loose from his hair to smack him on top of his head – lightly of course. Marco winced and pressed his eyes closed. “It’s… Jean Kirstein.”

There was an audible gasp from his friend. He looked up to see Armin covering his mouth to quiet a giggle. _And he doesn’t even believe me._ Marco frowned quizzically. The other man quickly shook his head, calming himself enough to speak. “No, no, no, Marco. It’s not like that. Let me explain.” Armin was grinning widely. “Eren HATES his character. The one he plays in the Survey Corps movies. We HAVE to introduce them.”

All of Marco’s pent-up worry came pouring out in the form of wild laughter. He fell back into the grass, his entire body quaking with the force of his hysterics. The familiar giggles from Armin joined in a few seconds later. The pair made no attempt to keep quiet. Passing families looked at them with utter confusion. One small girl even asked her parents what was wrong with the men and was hurried away to the building without an answer.

Marco was wheezing heavily when he finally sat up. Wiping away tears from his cheeks, he grinned, utter relief showing on his face.

“So… you managed a lunch date with the sexiest man of the year?” Armin asked, giving his shoulder a push.

Looking up at his friend, Marco mentally kicked himself for even thinking about lying or keeping this from all his friends. A faint blush returned as he nodded, extending his legs out and reaching for his toes. There wasn’t going to be much time to stretch inside.

“It wasn’t entirely like that, but yeah, we went to eat together,” Marco said, trying to play it off. Armin just beamed at him, obviously proud. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously before switching to a different stretch, continuing on.

All of the events from the last twenty-four hours came out in a rush. From the strange meeting in the stacks to the casual flirtation. His developing schoolboy-like crush on the more-handsome-than-he-could-hope-to-attract (slightly) younger man. The autograph and its accompanying note and how confusing it seemed. The thrill of cracking away at the shell the actor had wrapped around himself, especially making him laugh. How drawn he felt to Jean, that even if something more weren’t in the cards, this was someone he _wanted_ to be friends with, someone who _needed_ a friend.

Armin listened intently, his smile growing wider at the appropriate moments. And, of course, shaking his head when Marco revealed he had used THE quote. He seemed to sense that there were questions that even Marco could not answer, at least not yet, so he didn’t ask. It had always been like this between the two of them. Their unspoken understanding of each other was part of why they had remained friends even after ending their romantic relationship years before.

Marco moved to stand up and found Armin’s hand in front of him, an unspoken offer that would be rude to turn down. The brunette pulled himself up with the other man’s help, careful not to upset the wheelchair. Armin was far stronger than he looked, giving Marco a good yank to help him to his feet.

Yelling from across the parking lot drew his attention away. A young man with a buzzcut and a black-haired woman were climbing out of an SUV. _Connie and Mikasa made it here on time_ , he thought with a nod.

“Hey Marco.” Armin was looking up at him. His eyes squinted at the fading sunlight streaking through the buildings. Marco moved to cast his shadow over the blonde.

“Yeah?” Marco looked down. The expression on Armin’s face was hard to read, even for him.

“I hope this works out. With this guy,” Armin said quietly. “I’m pulling for it to be more than friends, but if not, it sounds like you might be a positive influence on him. Even if his time with you is only temporary.”

Bending over, he wrapped Armin into a deep hug. “I’m just taking this as it comes. You know I’m happy with my life,” Marco said, though the words rang a little hollow even to his own ears.

Armin pushed him back, holding the brunette at arm’s length and eyeing him skeptically. His friend did not have a chance to respond, as Connie had arrived and grabbed Marco into a bear hug from behind. The other male swung him around with ease, despite being several inches shorter. Mikasa gathered up Marco’s bag from the ground and greeted Armin with a quick kiss to the top of his head, taking up a position to push the blonde inside, despite his protests. Connie thankfully dropped him after a short while, draping an arm over his shoulders awkwardly as the group moved inside.

Right as they went to go through the glass doors of the entrance, Marco could have sworn he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine tearing away from the community center. However, his friends quickly pulled him indoors before he could think on it further. At least the game would be a good distraction for a while.

 

************

 [Somewhere outside of Trost]

 

The picnic table looked like it had seen better days, but it would do. Jean climbed onto it, sitting on the table portion and thumping his boots onto the weak looking bench. Old paint crackled away as the wood groaned and bent. The blonde winced slightly, but it thankfully did not break. Precariously balancing a paper plate with a half-eaten slice of gas station pizza on his knees, he set down his cup of coffee and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

Earbuds in, scowl set on his face, Jean was doing his best to scare off any patrons who might have similar ideas about taking a break under the extended red roof of the Casey’s he had stopped at for gas and food. His Triumph sat a few feet away, already refueled and waiting. Arctic Monkeys were wailing away the end of a song as he slipped a cigarette between his lips, struggling with a piece of shit lighter that was refusing to work.

Soft sounds of an acoustic guitar faded in on the earbuds, the song striking Jean as familiar, but not one of his. _Really need to not fucking let Braun add music to this thing, even if he puts good workout stuff on here. I always end up with the most random shit._ A male voice rose up, singing lyrics that nearly made him drop the lighter.

_‘Oh baby… baby… How was I supposed to know? That something wasn’t right here…’_

Jean growled and gave the spark wheel a hard swipe, finally coaxing a flame from the disposable piece of neon plastic. He lit his cigarette carefully before sending the lighter flying into a nearby trashcan. It banged in with a satisfying clang against the metal rim. By the time he pulled the phone out of his pocket, he had already come to a grudging acceptance of the cover song. Instead, he checked his messages and was totally not mouthing the lyrics silently while he read them.

One message from Bertl asked him to call after 7pm, but since that was Pacific time, it’d be late before Jean could make that call. More shit from Annie, which he scanned and huffed at, still annoyed by their argument this afternoon. There was one particular message that caught his attention. The contact’s name had been changed to “DO NOT FUCKING REPLY/ANSWER” and he had to smirk.

His phone was typically entrusted to a limited number of people. Only one would have the audacity to alter contact names. Jean took a deep swig from the Styrofoam cup and made a phone call. After a long wait, a voice deeper than one would expect from its owner growled into the phone. Simply growled.

“Well hello to you too, Levi.”

“The fuck, Kirschstein?” came an increasingly cranky reply. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Because you don’t reply to texts.”

“No, I reply to texts, just not yours.”

“You wound me.”

“I can beat your ass into next week if you really want to be wounded.”

“And you wonder why I like the other two better.”

“That would assume I give a damn about your opinion of me.”

“Aww Levi, that hurts. Don’t you know everyone calls me a younger version of Erwin? I’d think that’d make you love me.”

“Go fuck yourself with a broom.”

“I thought mixing cleaning and sex was your kink.”

Jean grinned at the bark of laughter from the other man. He heard the faint sounds of a slow clap at the other end of the call. “Alright, you win this round. You better not be doing a mic drop wherever you are.” The blonde sniggered and mimed just that purely for spite and told Levi as much. He could practically hear the eyeroll through the phone. “What did you really call me for, Jean?” the other man asked, straight to the point. “I know it’s not for recommendations on constipation medications, cause nothing can get that stick out of your ass.”

The smoke he had just drawn in came out with a laugh. “Fucking hell, Levi. I thought you declared me the winner already.”

“That was just round one, you shitty brat. Seriously. Why are you calling me and not one of those overgrown friends of yours or that bitch?” Jean shook his head, smirking again. Levi liked Annie about as much as he liked a messy house, which was about as much as Jean liked the paparazzi.

“I missed the sound of your sexy voice. Talk dirty to me,” Jean snarked back.

“I’m hanging up in ten seconds,” Levi replied, dead-pan. “One… Two…”

“Alright alright. Did you change contact names in my phone before I left?” Jean asked.

“For bitch number two? Yes, I did. Mike stopped me from deleting her entirely,” the other man snorted. “Would you have preferred something else? I figured ‘The Ex-Beard’ would have been problematic if someone found your shitty ass phone.”

A cold wave washed down Jean’s back. His cheeks twitched into a deeper frown. “She wasn’t…”

“Tch,” Levi cut him off before he could even start his weak denial. “She was. Your longest relationship since I’ve known you and I had to hear from her non-stop motor mouth about how you didn’t fuck her enough and when you did, it was half-assed.” The other man let out a heavy sigh. “Jean. You’re an adult, but you are such a fucking child sometimes. Maybe use this time to reflect, huh? Away from the shitheads who’d make you think you need that garbage?” The sharp whistle of a tea kettle and another man’s voice could be heard in the background from the other end. “Look, kid. I gotta go, but figure your shit out. You might find things get better.”

The call disconnected before Jean opened his mouth to say another word. Jean pulled the phone from his ear, staring at the black screen in disbelief. He muttered quietly, even though the other man couldn’t hear him, “I don’t need to figure anything out, you ass. At least not about that.” Waking the phone back up, he tapped out a reply to Bertl’s message.

 

Jean: Dont call me just come. Lemme know yr arrival time

Bertl: Really?

Jean: Yea. Ill cover yr tickets

Bertl: You don’t need to.

Jean: Stop sweating and shut up

Bertl: Ok…

Jean: Hey Bertl dont tell Annie I gave in so ez

Bertl: Sure…

 

A few minutes later, Jean’s empty coffee cup – jammed with a greasy paper plate and shredded cigarette remnants – banked into the trashcan with a thud. Slung low over the bike’s tank, the blonde tore off down the highway. There was just enough time to make it back to town for the library closing. _Wait, why does that matter?_ He shook his head and gunned the throttle, letting the engine and speed drown out his thoughts. Fields and farms, soil churned and dark from planting, raced past in a blur. It felt like flying, riding this way. Annie always tried to get him to sell his bikes, but he’d miss this sensation too much.

Gradually, more houses and thicker tree stands started to appear, dotting the side of the road at increasing intervals. Easing off, Jean slowed down, watching for the white and red of Trost to appear on the horizon. One final gentle rise in the road and he spotted it. An unfamiliar sense of calm flooded through him as he raced closer. The sun was just reaching the steeple atop the library as he entered town, slowing to match the much lower speed limits.

F&H’s Stop and Sleep passed by, but Jean didn’t slow down or pay it any attention. He was fixated on that steeple, drawn to it. Arriving in downtown, he spotted a pair of people exiting the library. A male bounded down the stairs, full of energy and dressed in athletic wear. Jean almost didn’t recognize the librarian. He looked different somehow, even more relaxed than he had at lunch. The fitted bright green t-shirt and black warm-up pants suited Marco as much as the big grin and bounce to his stride.

Pulling over to the side of the road, Jean stopped his bike, his boot resting against the parking meter lined curb. He watched as Marco coaxed his co-worker – Sasha wasn’t it? – into jogging through the parking lot. It looked like they were having fun, despite the woman having to try hard to keep up. His hands went to the helmet, intending to take it off and call out. Hesitation hit, just for a second, with that fear of being found or recognized and losing his anonymity. By the time Jean shook the feeling off, they were down the street.

_What the hell was I even planning there? Oh hey Marco, Marco’s friend! Don’t mind me butting in on whatever you guys are doing!_

Short nails bit into the soft flesh of his palm as he clenched his fist, slamming it into his thigh. Vibration from his phone buzzed inside a pocket. Flipping up the visor, he pulled it out. Another text. His eyes darted back to the pair, watching them disappear behind a building and out of sight, before reading the message.

 

Bertl: Got a morning flight. Will be at O’Hare with Reiner by around 2pm your time.

Jean: k. cu then

Bertl: We staying with you at your place?

Jean: prolly

 

“Well fuck,” he swore, jamming the phone back in his pants. “That’s gonna take a shit on the day.” Between driving back to the city to get his car and running to O’Hare to pick them up, it was going to leave little time to spend with Marco and his veteran friends. Kicking off the curb, Jean rode in the direction he’d see the two librarians head.

The building looked so much like a generic middle school that Jean nearly drove past it without seeing Marco. As it was, he had to circle the block to keep from causing an accident. When he’d first passed by, the brunette had been standing in a large group, but when he looped back, it had mostly dispersed and there were only two others with him. The flutter of worry returned, but Jean pushed past it, pulling the bike into the farthest corner of the parking lot.

Spotlights shone on a sign in front of the building, declaring it ‘Trost Community Center’. Jean kicked down the stand, swinging his leg over and tugging the helmet off. He ducked and weaved between the cars, doing his best to avoid people in the crowded lot. Looking around an oversized red truck, he stopped cold. The third man had gone, leaving Marco and a small blonde in a wheelchair.

Tightness clamped down on his chest and the nails were digging in again. The little blonde had his fingers threaded through Marco’s hair. The same soft strands that Jean had caught himself staring at when they had been in that bizarre secret passage. That he’d nearly buried his nose into. Teeth caught the inside of his cheek as they bit hard, grinding together and drawing blood.

They looked close. As if the other man was more than just one of Marco’s collection of friends.

It was probably best that Jean was nowhere near them. Especially when the librarian hit the ground, rolling with laughter that carried across the shadowy lot. His foot-in-mouth problem would have hit full force. As it was, the jackass comments still came flying out under his breath.

“Really? That little guy? He looks like a teenager.” _(Damnit, he’s kind of adorable)_

“Marco’d probably break him if he wasn’t already.” _(As if Bodt wouldn’t be the most careful person in the world)_

“He could do so much better.” _(Like who?)_

“Fucking hell, strawberry boy, you do have a favorite hair color, huh?” _(Well, that one is true)_

“I’m better looking than that.” _(Apples and oranges, you dick)_

“Can he even get it up?” _(Fuck… that’s a low blow)_

His face burned with guilt and embarrassment, glad no one heard him, particularly the last. Lashing out with his tongue, his words, came too easily. It would be simple – even vaguely believable – to blame it on spending too much time with similarly smart-mouthed friends, but he’d always been like this. Becoming famous had only made it worse. Everyone let him get away with shit like that.

Well, almost everyone. He could hear his mother tutting unhappily in his head, warning him to not say anything if he can’t say something nice; feel the harsh sting of Micheline’s smack upside the base of his skull; see his father’s disapproving look at his lack of tact. A breath huffed out his nose at the memories.

Family was certainly good for some things. Unfortunately, they couldn’t prevent him from being a smartass all the time.

 _There’s a reason I haven’t made a new REAL friend in years_ , he thought with a grimace. The plastic panel of the red truck bent under the slam of his fist. He cursed and shook his hand out. There was a moderate dent that was not popping back out.

“Hey! Why are you hitting my Chevy, asshole?” someone rumbled behind him.

Jean spun, bringing himself face to face with the truck’s owner. The guy was bleach blonde with massive sideburns, which gave him a fairly 70s porn star vibe. Jean tried to hold the comment in, honestly fought it… for about a nanosecond. It was just too golden. “Compensating for something, Boogie Night? Between the big-ass truck and that fucking look… all you’re missing is the Selleck porn ‘stache and polyester suit to look ready to shove yourself in someone’s mouth,” Jean taunted. Only thing missing from the childish tease was to stick out his tongue and pull down on his eye, but he somehow managed to restrain the impulse.

The guy looked like he’d been slapped. His expression flashed from annoyance to surprise and finally complete murderous rage. _Oops… probably went a little too far…_

Years of school yard brawls, stunt fighting, and sparring with Rei had honed his instincts to recognize the movement. Slight downtick of a right shoulder, upper arm swinging back, pulling the fist along before it flew forward. Jean ducked, slipping the motorcycle helmet up where his head had been. Knuckles connected with the impact resistant material, nearly knocking it out of his hands. With a sputtering laugh at the man’s yelp of pain, he danced back a few steps. Another punch came his way, but it was slower than the first and easy to dodge.

Jean held up his hands, well, held one up and the helmet in the other. “Calm down, buddy. It was just a joke,” he said, trying to defuse the situation, unsuccessfully. Edging away from the raging blonde, he kept his eyes darting to Marco, hoping he wouldn’t see. The librarian was stretching and mercifully paying no attention to the scuffle. Jean’s eyes lingered on the line of Marco’s back a touch too long, and the distraction left him slow to respond to a kick. It connected with his shin and nearly took his legs out from under him. He gasped at the pain and swore, hobbling backwards.

Another punch came at his face. Flinching away, it only managed to graze his chin. The helmet rattled as it hit the pavement. Jean moved swiftly before the stun set in, grabbing the moving arm and wrenching it around to pin it against the blonde’s back. The other man growled unhappily as he tried to pull lose and failed. “Dude, fucking chill. It wasn’t worth me actually beating the shit out of you,” Jean sneered. He added as much confidence to his voice as possible, slipping into one of his roles.

No way to know if he’d actually win a real fight. His jaw was already tingling from the weak impact, his leg aching. Those thoughts were shoved out of his mind. Closing his eyes, he pictured one of his characters. _Captain Jean, Survey Corps veteran, you motherfucker. Just try it!_ Eyelids snapped open to show molten gold, his lips curling into a snarl. He twisted the man’s arm a little harder, a little higher, making him whine in pain.

“Thomas, what’s going on?” asked a familiar voice. Jean glanced up. Franz and Hannah, the two proprietors of the motel, were standing nearby. A pair of small children were being pushed protectively behind Franz’s legs. Surprise swept over Hannah’s face as she recognized him. “Oh, Mr. Flintstone! What’s happening here?”

Jean flushed red and released the blonde – Thomas. He gave him a small push to get out of arm’s reach, taking a few steps back to ensure it. The hits had left him wobbly on his feet. He took a breath and opened his stance for more stability. “Just a little misunderstanding,” he explained, feeling deeply mortified. The expression he molded onto his face didn’t betray this, still locked into his ‘role’.

Thomas glared at him. “You call that a misunderstanding?”

Eyes never breaking contact, Jean snatched his helmet from the ground, slammed it on, and flipped up the visor. “Yeah, I do. Drop off any bill for the truck at the motel. Franz or Hannah can get it to me,” he said, voice muffled a little by the mouth guard. He walked away from them all, stunned silence following him. It was unlikely they caught the minute shudder in his shoulders as he shook off the character.

A sidelong look in Marco’s direction hurt more than either injury. The librarian was hugging the little blonde. Two more people were running over to them. Some guy with a buzzcut gathered Marco up and swung him through the air like he didn’t weigh a thing. An emotion he didn’t want to name ( _jealousy_ ) filled him completely and utterly. It wasn’t just about the blonde, but about Marco’s ease with everyone and how he seemed to make them feel wanted.

Jean had missed his chance, at least for now. The Triumph growled to life, the noise again obscuring his racing thoughts. Jean sped out of the lot and back to the motel. He found himself wishing Bertl and Reiner were already there. Silence and darkness were the only company he could expect in his room.

He really needed someone, _anyone_ , tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely [Fanonorcanon (aka Torturous-Daydreams)](http://torturous-daydreams.tumblr.com) and [WingedMermaid](http://wingedmermaid.tumblr.com) for being my cheerleaders and proofreaders for this. Same to you, [evilsforreals](http://evilsforreals.tumblr.com) and [Trianne](http://trianne.tumblr.com). You are all fantastic people.
> 
> Some real notes and fun info:  
> The description of Marco's fainting episode comes from personal experience. I did my best to describe what I felt when I nearly fainted once, but from what I understand, every person is different.
> 
> I tried to bring some of Marco's mannerisms from the anime into this chapter, especially the little face touch and stress faint.
> 
> Yes, I put Armin in a wheelchair. That is pulling from Notting Hill. I'm not usually this mean to characters.
> 
> Moblit seemed... oddly perfect for Marco's brother, or stepbrother in this case.
> 
> Dorito build is a reference to Chris Evans's body shape looking like a Dorito for Captain America. So... that should give you a good idea of how fit Jean is here.
> 
> The song Reiner put on Jean's iPhone is a cover of "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" by one of my favorite bands, Travis. You can find it here: [YouTube linkage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DSKT75m2AiM)
> 
> The 'shredded' cigarette description is intentional. My headcanon is that Jean usually breaks down his cigarettes when he's done with them. When he's especially anxious, he really tears the butt up. I know someone that picked up this habit in the military, holding onto the filters to dispose of properly while dumping the ash.
> 
> Even when he can fight, Jean still gets hit. I just couldn't resist. Sorry Jean-bo!
> 
> \---
> 
> As always, hit me up in Comments or on my [Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com) should you have any questions, comments, etc. Hope you enjoyed it! More updates (hopefully) very soon!


	6. Pizza and Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can be shared over volleyball, pizza, and beer.

Yelled commands, squeaking shoes, panting breaths echoed through the open space of the high-roofed gym. The variable sounds of leather balls impacting arms, hands, and floors filtered through the cheers of the few spectators scattered in metal folding chairs along the walls.

“I got it!”

“Nice receive, Krista!”

Marco let out a long exhale, moving swiftly under the floating volleyball. He came to a quick stop with a satisfying squeak of rubber on hardwood. The ball’s impact was soft and instant above his head. He gave it a precise push over to where a high-flying Connie was jumping near the net. There was a loud smack followed almost immediately by a resounding thud as his teammate slammed home the spike.

“That’s match!” Eren whooped. Armin, Sasha, and Moblit joined in with excited yells of their own from the sidelines.

Connie ripped off his shirt – bright green like the rest of the team – and started hollering loudly. Some of the members of the other team, the ones who didn’t know the gleeful Mr. Springer, looked on with astonishment. Marco shook his head with a chuckle before he trotted over to give the other man a high five. Everyone was gathering around, offering their congratulations.

“Marco!” Connie shouted and ran up, slapping his hand hard enough to leave it stinging. “That was the best one, and that’s really saying something after the night you’ve had. Maybe we should get you to faint more often!” Even through his face was flushed from physical exertion, Marco managed to turn an even deeper shade of red. The other man laughed at his discomfort and wrapped him up with sweaty arms, picking him up and giving him a good shake.

Both teams lined up at the net, shaking hands and exchanging “Good game” and other pleasantries. The captain from the opposing team stopped Marco, wanting to confirm the schedule for the tournament at the end of the month. Marco kept his eye on the team, watching them as they chattered excitedly and made plans. Listening a little absent-mindedly, he nodded in response to most of the questions from the other captain, anxious to leave but too polite to just dismiss the woman.

A sing-song yell sounded from the huddled team. “Mar-co… Po-lo!” Blush darkened his cheeks again as the other captain stifled a giggle. She waved Marco off, wishing him a good night.

Warmth brightened his expression as he looked over to the group. Teamwork suited them utterly, all their faces were shining and giddy. An opening appeared in the circle and they beckoned him to join. He took off like a shot, sprinting across the court before dropping to his kneepads and sliding the last few feet. Laughter filled his ears as they all collapsed down to the floor with him.

Looking around, Marco reached his hand into the middle of the messy huddle, holding it in the air. Ymir groaned. She knew what was coming and complained every time, but went along with it anyways. Marco gave her the biggest cheesiest grin he could muster and watched the scowl crack, fractionally. All the hands piled on top of the librarian’s freckled skin. “This was fun guys. And I think we deserve a celebration, my treat. Pizza on three! One… Two… Three!”

“PIZZA!” yelled the entire team as they threw their hands up in the air. Sasha and Connie’s voices rang out loudest of all.

\----

An hour later, Marco was surveying the carnage caused by his team. Multiple extra-large pizza pans littered the long tables dotted with napkins, empty beer pitchers, and messy plates. What little food remained had been divvied up and packed into to-go boxes. Connie was regaling their waiter with the tale of this afternoon’s pile-up, Mikasa’s exceptional landing along the highway, and his EMT crew’s quick work loading their victim for transport. Though, as per usual, he was playing off his own accomplishments onto everyone else.

Leaning lazily onto the table with his elbows, Marco took a sip of beer, frowning at the flat liquid. A small movement from Armin caught his eye. The little blonde was checking Eren’s watch, which prompted the librarian to glance at his own. It wasn’t too late, but the couple tended to be early risers. Finally extricating himself from Connie, the waiter brought over the check to Marco. He moved to pull cash from his wallet for a tip but Mikasa stopped him with a light touch on his hand.

“I’ll cover that, Marco. The rest of us are gonna have one last round anyways,” she said. Anyone else, Marco would have probably argued, insisted on paying, but Mikasa’s tone was firm. Something did strike him though.

“You say that like I’m going somewhere,” Marco said, folding the check in half. Mikasa’s eyebrow quirked up, questioning. “What?” he asked.

“You’re not staying for more. That beer you’ve been nursing the whole meal says otherwise,” she pointed out with a nod to his glass. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling sheepish. He couldn’t really argue her point.

“Hey all. We’re gonna be heading out,” Armin called down the table loudly enough for all to hear, giving them a wave. “Thanks for the fun, Marco,” he added with a smile. Eren stood up and walked around the table, clamping a hand on Marco’s shoulder as he passed. He and Mikasa shared a warm hug and they exchanged good nights. His husband was already wheeling towards the exit when he caught up to him. The young woman raised her eyebrows at Marco, inclining her head after the couple.

“Go, get out of here. You’re practically on another planet as is,” she chided him. Tucking hair behind an ear, she treated him to one of her rare smiles.

With a peck on her cheek, Marco thanked his friend quietly. Ymir noticed him gathering his things and standing to leave. She called out, “Hey Marco, before you go, I want you to hear my new ringtone!” Lifting up her phone, it started playing Kesha’s chorus from ‘Timber’ as loudly as the tiny speaker would allow. Flushing red for about the hundredth time that day, he balled up a napkin and whipped it across the table at the cackling woman.

It was going to be weeks before Ymir let him live the fainting down. He contemplated using her favorite gesture to show his displeasure, but decided against it. Instead, he just gave a little bow and tipped an invisible hat in her direction. Marco walked away from the table as they all started singing along, his goodbyes drowned out by the combined voices. He made a quick stop to pay at the register before heading outside.

Armin was waiting at the curb for Eren to pull the car around. Marco walked up to him and ruffled the soft blonde fringe. The blonde batted away his hand away with a grumbled ‘why does everyone always do that’ under his breath. There was no real annoyance in the question and a ghost of a smile flashed across his face. He caught Marco’s hand as it slipped loose and gave it a small squeeze.

Marco’s eyes drifted along the familiar streets of the town, quiet save for the soft buzz of the streetlamps and the chirping of crickets coming from the shadows. After a few beats of silence, Armin turned his face up, taking in Marco’s distant gaze and following it. “You won’t be needing a ride then,” he said, snapping Marco out of his reverie. Without realizing it, he had been staring at the edge of the glowing sign for Franz and Hannah’s motel a few blocks away.

_I wonder if he’s there now…_

Headlights cast long shadows from the two men as Eren pulled up in the couple’s Scion. Marco stepped up to assist his friend into the vehicle, pulling the wheelchair away once Armin was in the seat. Setting the to-go box on top the car, he wheeled the chair around the back and hefted it into the trunk. Marco slammed the hatch door closed, watching carefully that it did not hit the chair, and gathered his things. The soft whir of a motor signaled a window being opened. Swinging his bag over a tired shoulder, he moved to the passenger side of the car.

“You sure you want to walk home? It’s not that out of the way,” Eren asked, ever the worrier. Marco stooped down to look inside, giving the couple a lopsided smile and a negative headshake. Even if he hadn’t been debating something a little crazy, the offer would have been turned down. The pair lived on the opposite side of town and he really didn’t want to impose. Armin’s eyes flicked down the street and back up to him, sparkling with silent encouragement.

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine,” Marco said. His friend looked at him with a disbelieving pout. “ _Really_ ,” he added with an eyeroll.

Armin gave his husband a small nudge from the passenger seat. “Come on, Eren. I think Marco knows what he wants to do.” Eren opened his mouth to argue further and the little blonde clamped a hand over it. He reached across to start the ignition, turning to Marco and winking. “Be safe, buddy. I’ll talk to you later.” The window slid closed and he watched his friends thread their hands together, Armin pressing a kiss to the back of Eren’s hand. It was tender, sweet, and affected him more than usual.

Marco stood in the dim glowing circle of a street lamp’s light, waving as the car pulled away. Residual heat from his leftover pizza filtered through the cardboard, warming his hand despite the cool night air. Sparing a quick glance into the large pane glass windows at his other friends, he smiled faintly. It had been a good night, but it did feel incomplete. Home was to the south – behind him – but Marco didn’t turn around. His feet had a mind of their own, walking forward and farther from it.

This felt right. His steps lightened until he was practically skipping, any aches from the game forgotten.

Following a quick stop at a small shop around the corner, he let the glowing neon ‘Vacancy’ sign guide him the remaining few blocks. Scattered cars filled some of the spots in the motel parking lot. However, there was only one motorcycle. Jean’s Triumph was sitting directly in front of the door farthest from the office. The chrome parts and deep blue tank were covered with a thin layer of dust that hadn’t been present in the morning. _He must have been out riding for awhile_ , Marco mused.

Adjusting the items in his hands, Marco hesitated for a brief moment, debating whether he should have called or texted first. Tennis shoes scuffed against the ground as he fidgeted. He silently ran through the rationalizations: his phone was buried in his gym bag, he had forgotten, he was so used to just kind of showing up at his friends’ homes, he was only a few blocks away so it wasn’t that far. They sounded feeble even in his own mind.

His gaze drifted upward to the stars barely visible through growing cloud cover and the scattered light from the town. With a hushed voice, Marco admitted the true reason to the night sky, “I didn’t want to give him the chance to say no.”

A shadow moved across the curtain-covered windows of the motel room. Jean was there. “Freedom lies in being bold,” Marco muttered. “This… is pretty damn bold.” He took a deep breath, throwing his shoulders back and standing as straight as possible. The remaining distance to the door melted away under long-legged strides, mercifully faster than his confidence. Balancing the convenience store bag on top of the pizza box, Marco brought up his fist to the painted wood. His eyes pinched shut in silent prayer as he rapped his knuckles against the door.

There was a muffled curse from the other side. Marco pressed his ear to the door, listening to the sudden drop-off in volume of some sports game playing on a TV followed by various rustles and thumps. “Who is it?” came Jean’s voice, closer than before.

Marco bit his lip, all his poise fading along with his ability to speak. Scrambling for words, he glanced down at the box in his hands. “P-pizza delivery,” Marco stammered out, disguising his voice.

“What the fuck… didn’t order any,” Jean growled as he slid the chain across and cranked the deadbolt. The door was yanked open, filled with annoyed blonde. Confusion quickly replaced anger as he realized who was actually standing outside. “Bodt?”

Marco’s greeting died with a strangled noise in his throat. He barely managed to cover the sound with a forced cough. Jean’s bare shoulders were covered with drips of water still falling from his soaked hair. The undercut style was somehow simultaneously sticking up and plastered down in a haphazard mess. Light from the room filtered over the blonde from behind, casting odd shadows over the curves and crevices of his muscled torso. Heat rushed across freckled cheeks and pooled in the depths of Marco’s stomach. Photos and tight-fitting clothing could give a general impression of a person’s body, but seeing it up close and personal was something else entirely.

_You have to be joking me…_

Swallowing hard, which sounded cartoonishly loud in his ears, Marco tried (and failed) to keep his gaze from following the trail of one of the bigger drops of water. A path that meandered over deeply tanned skin covered in small dings and scars, slowing as it went through a dusting of dark blond hair between hard pectoral muscles. Defined ridges of six-pack abs funneled the water down the center of Jean’s stomach to pool inside the curve of his navel. Marco’s eyes continued downward, following a trail of hair that stopped against the edge of the beat-up jeans from the morning. Jeans that were just barely hanging onto narrow hips as the actor held the unbuttoned fly closed with his hand.

More drips trickled down as Jean raised a small white towel to his hair, scrubbing hard to dry it out. Gorgeously inked tattoos of coats of armor shifted as the muscles on his arms flexed and stretched. Jean was speaking and Marco managed to drag his eyes back upwards before his gawking became too obvious. “…replied to my texts. You really didn’t need to come down here,” he finished, tone slightly cool. Towel looped around his neck, the blonde leaned against the doorframe and eyed him with a distant expression.

Marco blinked rapidly as the words set in. _He texted me?_ Without thinking, he reached for his gym bag, intending to pull his phone out from the depths as he mumbled about forgetting to check it. Jean leaped forward, only just managing to grab the plastic bag before it toppled to the ground. Marco froze, gripping the box tightly. “Oh crap. Thanks, Jean,” he said, flushing deeper red at his clumsiness.

Jean let out an excited little laugh. “You really did bring pizza?” he asked, eyebrows raising.

“Uh yeah, I did. Though it might be a bit cold now,” Marco replied, his hand rubbing along the nape of his neck. “Oh, and beer too,” he added, nodding to the bag. “I, well, you’re alone here, and I had extra. Thought maybe you’d like some company… er… sustenance. Or both. If you want.”

Something shifted in the actor. Teeth caught at the edge of Jean’s mouth, chewing briefly. He stepped back, nudging the door open wider with his bare foot. “You’re forgiven for not replying to my text, oh saint among men,” he said, glancing at the contents of the bag. “I could fucking hug you for this, strawberry boy.”

A shiver shot down Marco’s spine at the thought. It took effort to keep from asking for that exact form of payment, especially given Jean’s current half-dressed state. It had _officially_ been too long since his last relationship, that much was certain. Giving the blonde a nudge with his elbow as he passed, Marco walked inside the room. “Boy?” he said, snorting. “I’m fairly certain that I’m older than you.”

“Not possible. You look like you’re barely old enough to buy this beer,” Jean replied as he set the bag on a round wooden table in the corner. Marco laughed, familiar with how he tended to be perceived. Baby-faced Bodt, perpetually carded even though most of the town knew he was of age. The blonde buttoned up his fly and grabbed a beer for each of them. Rummaging through pockets, he pulled out a set of keys, popping off the caps with a bottle-opener keychain. “Hell, I’m not sure I should give this to you.”

The beer was held out despite the tease. Marco took it and pulled a long swig from the bottle, savoring the rich flavor. Local microbrew was far superior to the cheap drafts the team had gotten at dinner. He dropped the pizza on the table and flipped open the lid. “You’re twenty-five, right?” he asked the other man, who nodded. “Well, I turn twenty-six in a little over a month.”

A middle finger flashed up. “Always the youngest. Damnit. It’s only ten months though!” he grumbled, his mouth pursing in a pout that crinkled up his nose. Jean leaned in to grab a slice, taking a massive bite. The blonde’s face lit up as he made pleased little noises and mixed a small sip of beer in with the food. He spoke through his mouthful, “Mm… dis ish gud.”

“Oh my God, Jean,” Marco said, gaping at the other man.

“Whu?” His mouth was loaded with more pizza, the still-scruffy jaw working hard on the oversized piece.

Marco dropped his gaze and gripped his forehead, trying hard not to laugh at the blonde. _He must never get called on anything._ “I know you weren’t raised in a barn,” Marco joked, looking up as he slid the hand down a cheek and cupped it along his jaw. Jean’s sour expression finally made him chuckle. Adam’s apple bobbing, the blonde swallowed thickly and washed the pizza down with another drink.

“Contrary to what you and a certain pint-sized fucknut think, I have excellent manners,” he said, jutting his chin out proudly. _That’s new_ , Marco thought. Faint purple stained the curve of Jean’s jaw. Marco tilted his head and looked a little closer, reaching out unconsciously. His fingers brushed the skin and Jean startled at the touch, pulling away instantly. “Oi! Careful there!” he hissed angrily, putting an extra step of space between them.

It was so strange. Jean’s reactions were erratic, unpredictable. Marco’s hand lingered in the air for a second before falling limply to his side. “Sorry. It’s just… that wasn’t there this afternoon,” he said quietly. A flash of angry heat filled the amber eyes. Jean drained his bottle of beer, not saying a word. Marco waited out the silence, settling onto the edge of one of the room’s two beds. His patience didn’t quite meet the pinnacle that was Moblit, but he could wait this out.

The blonde’s stare bored into him, taunting and edged with pain, but Marco just met it with kind eyes. Fingers clenched around the curves of the glass bottle before Jean plunked it down on the table. Turning his back, Jean stalked to the dresser and stood there, gripping the edge hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Every motion was tense, guarded.

He didn’t catch the sharp intake of breath from Marco as he finally got to see the tattooed wings in all their glory. One white framed with gold and one a deep blue, the two different colored wings overlapped each other and covered nearly every inch of flesh on Jean’s back. Any movement from the blonde made them ripple and quiver like they were real. It was astounding. Marco couldn’t begin to imagine the time it had taken and the pain Jean had dealt with to have that permanent work of art.

Motion above the tattoo drew Marco’s eyes up. Jean was watching him over his shoulder, eyes unreadable under the light lashes. “It was nothing,” he muttered. “A misunderstanding.” He turned away again, chin dipping to his chest.

Realization dawned on him. “You picked a fight,” Marco ventured.

Jean’s mouth flew open and quickly snapped shut, lips screwing up into a scowl. His chest expanded slowly, the wings shuddering, and shrunk with a deep sigh. “Something like that,” he conceded.

Marco stood up and walked over to him, hand resting the blonde’s shoulder. He leaned in, voice soft and a little teasing, “I thought Canadians were supposed to all be nice and polite.”

“Fuck off,” Jean said, but there was no bite to his tone. He shrugged off Marco’s hand, though the corner of his lip quirked up just a tiny bit.

“Jean, I hope this doesn’t seem like I’m reaching, but well… For someone who hates all the attention he receives, you sure do a bang-up job bringing plenty down on your own head,” Marco pointed out as gently as he could. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore, unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” he said immediately.

“Understood. Want another beer?” A curt nod was the only reply, but the tightness leeched out of his shoulders. His relaxation, however slight, let Marco unwind too. He turned to the table, pulling out another bottle and using the keychain to open it. Jean was tugging on a t-shirt when he looked back. He had to bite back a laugh when he saw what was on the front. “Trying to tell me something, Jean?” The black shirt had a yellow circle with a hammer emblazoned on it and a message of ‘This is not the hammer!’ directly below.

Eyebrow quirking up, Jean gave him a sly smile as he took the beer. “So, the cave-dweller knows Doctor Horrible,” he said with mild surprise.

“Are you really that shocked? It has singing and Neil Patrick Harris. Of course I know it,” Marco replied as he returned to perch on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I’ll leave the answer to that one up to your imagination,” Jean said, taking a drink and grabbing a new slice. Marco pinched his eyes shut briefly, stifling a groan. _Like I need more for that mental picture after tonight._

The other bed creaked as Jean dropped onto it. His hand waved at Marco’s shirt. “What’s the Library Legion?”

“Eh? Oh, yeah. It’s a co-op volleyball team I’m on with my friends and stepbrother,” he said, tugging at the green material. “We had a game tonight.”

“So that’s why…” Jean started to say, but clamped his mouth closed.

Looking at him curiously, Marco asked, “Were you at the Community Center?”

The tips of Jean’s ears started to darken and he pressed the beer to one of them – probably to cool it down. His metal piercings tinkled quietly against the glass. “Just passed by,” he admitted. “Saw you with some guy in a wheelchair.”

Marco smiled. “That’s Armin. His husband plays. They’re two of my best friends.”

The amber eyes went a little wide. A small smile was hidden behind another drink from the beer. “You guys win?” he asked after swallowing. Marco nodded, grinning. “Heh. I didn’t peg you for the sporty type.”

“I got nothing on you, but I’m not _that_ out of shape,” Marco said. “And I’m actually pretty decent for not playing competitively since university.”

“Your turn to be full of surprises, I guess,” Jean said, smiling a little wider. The last bite of his pizza slice disappeared between the perfectly straight teeth. Marco realized he was probably staring a little too hard at the blonde’s mouth and pulled his gaze away.

Instead, he looked around the room. Well, really anywhere but at the lounging actor. Ymir and Krista had helped plan the redesign when Franz and Hannah took over the hotel a short while back. The style was fairly retro; wallpaper covered in brightly colored circles, black furniture, solid bedspreads in colors that matched the circles, and a bubble glass divider wall separating the bathroom area.

“You know, I actually haven’t been in these rooms since the Kefkas had them all redone,” he mused aloud. “A little sad considering two of my friends were in charge of the renovations.”

“This place has been updated?” Jean scoffed. “I thought it was just really well-maintained from the 70s or something.”

Marco shrugged. “Krista called it ‘Winchester chic’, whatever that’s supposed to mean.” Jean had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop from spitting out a sip of beer. His shoulders shook in silent laughter. “What? I don’t know modern decorating styles. My house is a hodgepodge of hand-me-down furniture I’ve collected over the years,” Marco said with a huff. His cheeks started burning as Jean’s laughter devolved into snickers then cackles.

Arms across his chest, Marco tried to keep a straight face. The deep wheezing before another bout of hyena-like noises set him off. _Ugh, why does his laugh have to be so infectious and ridiculous?_ He grinned, chuckling low in his chest as he watched Jean struggle to keep from spilling his drink, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You… just let me know when you’re done there, Jean,” Marco said. He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, into the space between the beds. His beer was gone by the time Jean’s breathing, and laughter, finally calmed enough that he was able to sit up normally. The blonde chugged down the last of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

“Bodt. Just… Fuck… Get like, Netflix or something,” Jean said, smirking. “Though damn if it isn’t cute to have you be all clueless sometimes.” He reached across the space between them and patted Marco’s head, ruffling the dark hair. Marco stopped breathing. All he could think about was wanting those fingers to thread into the strands and pull him into a kiss. Something that was not going to happen.

The hand mercifully pulled away. Marco exhaled, shaking his head at the other man. “I _will_ take my beer and walk home, Kirstein,” he threatened.

“Tch. Whatever. You’re having fun,” Jean replied.

Marco gave him an exaggerated frown, a single shoulder shrug, and let out a small “Eh.” One of the pillows came flying at his head and was deftly caught and whipped directly back, hitting a stunned Jean in the face. He was off the bed before Jean could strike back, getting another two beers out of the package. “I just finished a volleyball game, Jean. My reflexes are on fire!” The pillow hit him square in the butt and there was a loud snort from behind.

“Uh huh. Sure thing, Marco.” They were actual children, but Marco didn’t care. His cheeks were starting to ache, just faintly, from all the smiling. This Jean – grinning, happy, and laughing – was one he could get used to seeing. One he wanted to keep around.

Soft pattering noises caught his attention. Marco walked over to the window and looked outside. Rain was just starting to fall, painting the ground with shimmering light. They had been too absorbed in their silliness to recognize the faint rumbles of the incoming storm. “Damnit,” Marco cursed under his breath. “I’m gonna need to get out of here before this gets much worse.”

Mother Nature had other ideas. Thunder boomed loud enough to rattle the window panes, coming barely a second after a flash of lightning.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jean swore as he rose. “You are definitely not going out in that.”

White light filled the view as another bolt of electricity rent the sky, followed instantly by one more shuddering explosion of sound. Marco held the curtains open wider as the other man joined him at the window. The clouds hadn’t opened up yet, but it was only a matter of time. Jean stood close to him, his arm brushing Marco’s as he looked outside.

It was the closest they had been all night without the other man flinching or pulling away. Marco’s chest tightened. He wondered if any movement from him, however slight, would pop that bubble and make Jean break contact again. Would he close himself off, throw up the prickly walls that Marco was so carefully trying to pick apart? Drawing in a breath through his nose, the familiar scent of Jean rolled in. Faint hints of cigarette smoke despite the shower, coffee, and his cologne.

Another flare of light blanched all color out of the parking lot. The storm was rolling in fast and heavy. “Jean, you might want to put your bike under the overhang,” Marco said as the motorcycle flashed into view. “This kind of weather tends to come with hail around here.” Jean grunted unhappily and stepped back from the window.

Throwing on his jacket, Jean headed outside and into the rain without hesitation. Marco followed and helped him pull the motorcycle up onto the sidewalk that ran along the motel and under its roof. The steadily worsening rain left them both wet and dripping. As they stood under cover, the skies opened up and filled the air with thick sheets of water pounding loudly against every exposed surface.

“And to think,” Jean said as he pulled off his soaked jacket, “You were going to walk home in that.” The brunette shook his head like a dog, scattering droplets all over the actor and making him yelp. Leaning against the wall of the motel, Jean slicked his hair back and watched the storm intently. It wasn’t his best look, but Marco refrained from commenting. He returned to the room, peeling off his wet shirt and warm-up pants before digging into his gym bag. Managing to find a worn purple Northwestern shirt and some shorts in the mess, he pulled them out along with his phone and its flashing notification light.

Jean had re-entered the room, moving into the edges of Marco’s peripheral vision. The brunette turned his head slightly to look. Standing in the doorway, Jean was silently gawking at him. The thin mouth was hanging partially open like the other man had forgotten what he was about to say. A self-conscious laugh gurgled in Marco’s throat and he yanked on the dry clothes, covering freckled skin that was getting darker under Jean’s gaze.

“Heh, I uh… sorry. I thought you were going to be out there a little longer,” Marco said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His voice stirred the blonde from his trance, amber eyes blinking slowly. Jean was blushing. _Superb… I made the famous person uncomfortable stripping in his room._ Marco mentally kicked himself. “I’ll wait outside while you change.” The blonde nodded at him, stepping aside as Marco went out the door. It closed with a quiet click.

Pressing his back against the wood, Marco slid to the ground feeling utterly mortified. Had Jean not been just on the other side, he would have been banging his head against it in time with mutters of “Stupid stupid stupid.” There went any hope of not seeming like a weirdo. He stared out into the rain, rumbles from the thunder moving further away, clutching his phone.

_Blink… blink… blink…_

Marco lifted up his phone, glaring at the little annoying blue light, before waking it to read the messages.

 

***

Jean: rly hate to do this to u….. something came up n I cant do the research stuff tmrw

Jean: still want 2 do it tho

Jean: just reply r call r whatev

Jean: u around??

Jean: this is marco, rt?

***

 

A faint smile returned to his lips. Maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster yet. The door opened behind him and he fell, rather ungracefully, at Jean’s feet. Holding a beer bottle out to the prone librarian, Jean laughed, “Get back in here, you fucking nerd. And try to keep your pants on this time.” The blonde turned and walked back to the beds, giving Marco a good view of the clean pair of tight jeans now adorning his legs. _Hate for you to go, love to watch you leave_ , he thought with a smirk, though he immediately blushed at the ridiculousness.

Scrambling to his feet, Marco followed him inside. If Jean was laughing about it, maybe his blunder wasn’t that big of a deal. The TV was on, volume up, and a hockey game on the screen. Glancing at the uniforms, Marco recognized the Ducks’ colors from the countless times Eren had made him watch those movies as teens. “Your favorite playing?” he asked, unsure who the other team was.

“Nah, just a playoff game. Wasn’t much on earlier,” Jean replied. He had thrown himself onto the bed, propped up on the pillows. Marco mirrored him, dropping onto the other.

“So… what came up for tomorrow?”

Jean glanced at him. “Have to run into the city. Pick up some folks at O’Hare.”

“The friends?” Marco asked. Jean hummed an affirmative, but said nothing further and looked back to the TV. A sign not to push, not that Marco needed much reminding of the afternoon’s heated phone argument. The actor started flipping through the channels, looking for something more interesting. A few seconds later, a message about upcoming programming caught Marco’s eye. Jean must have seen it too because he hissed out a breath and quickly changed the station.

“Wait wait wait! Did that just say ‘Survey Corps’ was coming up next?” Marco blurted out, jabbing a finger furiously at the TV.

Jean made a choking sound. “Oh no. We are not watching one of my movies.”

“Oh please. Come on. It’ll be good fun. I haven’t seen them!” Springs squeaked faintly as Marco hopped off the bed to the floor. Jean shot him a fiery look and switched the remote to his other hand, away from the brunette.

“Fucking hell. No, man. Don’t make me watch this, especially not on suckass basic cable. With commercials. And that ‘edited for content and time’ bullshit. It will probably be in goddamn full screen,” Jean said, his voice pitching towards a whiny tone. Marco stood at the edge of the other bed, arms crossed and looked down at the blonde. It was time to take no prisoners. He turned on the sad puppy face. His eyes went soft and wide, mouth curving down in a quivering frown.

Approximate time to cave-in… about ten seconds. Jean’s scowl crumbled quickly and he tossed the remote up in the air for Marco to catch. “What the shit was with that face? Un-fucking-fair,” he grumbled, grabbing his beer and draining half the bottle.

“My secret weapon,” Marco replied with a smirk, “But I swear that I only use it for good.” A hand reached out and swiped at his hip in retaliation, but he dodged, moving out of range. Backtracking a few channels, Marco was able to find the movie just as the title card flashed across the screen. Jean continued making little angry noises as he tapped the beer bottle’s rim against his teeth. He was more adorable than threatening though.

Despite his initial annoyance and complaints, Jean got sucked into enjoying the movie along with Marco. Commercial breaks were filled with stories about he and his co-stars’ behind-the-scenes shenanigans. There had been trick teacups, prank wars, adlibbed lines, Mike’s apparently dog-like sense of smell, insult battles with Levi, injuries from stunts, late night karaoke, and far too much underage (In America ONLY) drinking on Jean’s part. He excitedly shared the story of his first time on the wire harnesses and how the stunt coordinator had called him ‘a natural’ and ‘a prodigy,’ beaming the whole time.

Jean patiently answered Marco’s _many_ questions about the movie, doing his best to explain without spoiling the story. More than a handful of times, the pair were so focused on their conversation that they didn’t realize the movie had come back. Marco noticed that the more relaxed Jean became, the more the accent started to surface, along with a shift in his swearing from English to French. He filed that under stuff to keep to himself, not wanting it to stop.

By the time the movie reached its exciting climax, the six-pack of beer was gone and they had cracked open the mini-bar. Excited cheers filled the room as they rooted on Jean’s character, voices slightly slurred, sitting on the bottom end of the bed next to each other. It was probably best that the room next door was vacant. Jean was loudly repeating all his lines over top of the movie.

The end credits came too soon. Marco’s head was a little fuzzy, but he was all too aware of the fairly drunk man next to him. Jean was humming along with the triumphant theme as colorful graphics splashed across the screen. “Here i’comes,” he murmured, waving a hand at the TV. Mike Zakarius’s name faded, replaced by ‘And introducing… JEAN KIRSTEIN’. The actor waved his hands in the air, calling out ‘Ta-da!’ and turned his beaming face to the brunette.

Amber eyes locked on his and Marco swallowed hard. Jean’s head lolled to the side and he reached up, sliding a hand into the shaggy brown hair, carding it between his fingers. “So soft,” he whispered, “Like a bunny. One-a zose long-hair ones. You’re a speckled bunny, Marcooo.”

Marco closed his eyes and sighed, leaning gingerly into Jean’s hand for the briefest of moments. The touches were lighting a fire across his skin, but the other man probably had no idea what he was really doing. Not the faintest clue of how much it was affecting him. “And it’s time for you to go to bed,” he said wearily. He pulled away, taking the blonde’s hand into his and patting it gently.

“You’re fun, Bodty Bodt. I like you,” Jean said, his voice earnest as he attempted to look serious. His head ended up pitching forward and landing heavily against Marco’s chest.

“Uh huh. Up under the covers, blondie,” Marco chuckled softly, coaxing the other man up to the pillows. He tucked the compliant actor in and moved around the room, turning off the lights and TV. The storm had blown over, but he was in no shape to walk home.

Following some shuffling under the blankets, Jean chucked his pants to the floor and rolled onto his side to face Marco. “Fais de beaux rêves,” Jean murmured slowly and carefully, his eyelids drooping. Blush warmed Marco’s cheeks and butterflies roiled around in his stomach at the words. He watched the other man fall asleep before collapsing tiredly against his own pillows, drifting off not more than a minute later.

\---

Morning arrived with the blaring brass tones of ‘Reveille’ coming from somewhere on the nightstand. Two hands, one from either bed, slapped at the table, blindly trying to grab the offending phone. Jean’s found it first and silenced the noise, dropping it with a clatter. Deep groans resounded from both sides of the room.

“Too early.”

“ _You_ wanted to watch the whole movie.”

“ _You_ were snoring.”

“You _talk_ when you sleep.”

“Liar.”

“I heard my name. Several times.”

“You wish.”

Jean didn’t reply, grumbling and pulling his blankets over his head. Marco kicked his loose and went to the bathroom. By the time he came out, Jean was surprisingly up and dressed, looking far worse than he had the day before. His bedhead was an unmitigated disaster, eyes glazed and a little bloodshot. Having seen his own reflection, Marco knew he didn’t look much better. Hangovers did not an attractive person make.

“Need breakfast… and coffee,” Jean mumbled as he walked past, closing the bathroom door with a thud. He stumbled out a few minutes later wearing thick-rimmed glasses and had calmed most of his hair down. It was still sticking up in the back, a cowlick that must have refused to be tamed. “Don’t laugh,” he growled.

“Those glasses real this time?” Marco asked, looking away to hide a smile.  Granted, he wore glasses for certain situations, but it was funny all the same.  Especially with how self-conscious Jean seemed about them.   _If only People's readers could see you now._

“Shuddup,” Jean snorted. “Stupid contacts were dried out.” Marco slung his gym bag from a shoulder as he surveyed the mess of bottles covering the various surfaces in the room. Grimacing, he thought with pity about the poor maid who would have to clean up after them. “We going to that one place again?” Jean asked as they headed out the door.

“Fine by me. You’re buying,” Marco said, half-joking. Jean shrugged, unaffected, closing up the room behind them. They walked towards the street, enjoying the comfortable silence of two hungover people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... this chapter got a bit away from me. I have the next one partially outlined because I had at least two more scenes planned for this (Breakfast at Pixis' Place and Jean's run to Chicago to get Reiner and Bertl). Those will be in the next chapter instead.
> 
> Fun info:
> 
> Mikasa is a LifeFlight helicopter pilot and Connie is on her EMT crew!  
> Ymir and Krista have a renovation/interior design business together (Yumikuri Designs).  
> My headcanon Marco is a bit of a beer snob.  
> Jean wears contacts/glasses! Marco does too (for night driving and movies)!
> 
> A link for those who did not get the ['These are not the hammer'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4eeQSI-jo0E) reference...  
> [Jean's back tattoo](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/post/82965164731/alicexz-au-where-everyone-gets-a-really-badass)
> 
> 'Freedom lies in being bold' - Robert Frost. Marco Bodt, ultimate nerd.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated. Hit me up here or over on my [Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com).
> 
> If you want to see if there are any teases up, check my [Chapter Teases](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/tagged/chapter-teases) tag. I am throwing side-shots in there as well (including one about late night karaoke that I just posted after this).
> 
> Thank you again, WingedMermaid and Torturous-Daydreams/Fanonorcanon for being my sounding boards and proofreaders. I really appreciate it.


	7. Diners, Drivin', and Dorks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grown men being dorks.
> 
> (Can you tell I hate these things?)
> 
> Also... Hanji, NO.

 

Pixis’ Place was fairly quiet in the morning compared to other times of day. Marco pulled the glass door open, holding it for Jean to step inside. Music played from the jukebox – Spencer Davis Group’s ‘Gimme Some Lovin’’ – at a lower volume than normal, of course. Couldn’t have it too loud for pre-coffee morning conversation. The counter was lined with all the regulars, mostly older men, chatting about sports, fishing, and politics. A few looked up, nodding at Marco and giving Jean the longer ‘unfamiliar face’ once-over. The actor seemed hyper-aware of the attention today, tugging down on the Canadiens cap that was once again gracing his head.

Scanning the diner, Marco quickly found who he was hoping to see. Parked in the booth closest to shining metal kitchen doors were three men in particular: two bald and one with graying blonde hair. Even if Jean didn’t have much time, Marco was going to help him make in-roads on his research. He tugged on Jean’s jacket sleeve, leading him over to the group. A gruff ‘Morning Marco’ from each man greeted them when they arrived at the end of the table.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Marco said, getting a few chuckles from the trio. Each would argue with him, frequently, that they were anything but. Jean stiffened slightly next to him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the actor chewing on his lip, looking around. _Probably wondering why I’m not sitting us at an empty table_. Releasing his hold on the jacket, Marco slung an arm around Jean’s shoulders and pulled him in. The other man tensed up at the contact but didn’t shake him off. Marco whispered a quick, “Just trust me, ok?” before returning his attention to the others, arm dropping back down. “Would you mind terribly if my friend and I joined you?”

Two of them grunted assent as the oldest man slid out from the booth. “Take my side, boys. I need to get back. Your usual, Bodt?” Marco gave him a nod. “How ‘bout you, kid?” he asked Jean. The confused look on Jean’s face had the whole group sniggering. His expression grew sour as he turned on Marco. It was probably intended to be intimidating or show his annoyance, but the glasses, flipped up collar, and baseball cap diluted the effect.

_He’s cute when he’s grumpy._

Marco realized that he kept forgetting that the actor was not from around town. He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, sharing in the second-hand embarrassment. _Best to try and lighten the moment_. “He’s asking what you want to eat. This is Dot Pixis. He owns the place,” Marco stage whispered to Jean, giving him a small nudge with his elbow.

Finally understanding, Jean recovered quickly. His hands shoved into the pockets of his motorcycle jacket and the broad shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. The actor barely took more than a moment to think before he said, “I had one of your amazing omelets yesterday. Think I could get another?”

Hints of an accent Marco couldn’t place slipped into the words. It wasn’t the Quebecois one that had emerged last night when the actor was drunk, but sounded similar.  It struck him as a bit odd, but Jean wouldn’t meet his questioning look. Something had shifted in the other man; he was standing a bit straighter, looking less haggard around the eyes, like a mask had slipped down to cover the hangover.

Pixis gave Marco’s back a hard thump as he passed, leaving him staggering slightly and distracting him from his observations. “Excellent choice! Keep this one around, Marco,” Dot said, a light flashing in the laughter line ringed eyes. The possible double meaning of the comment was intentional. Though anyone who complimented the old man’s cooking always seemed to earn his seal of approval. Marco sighed and rolled his eyes. Pixis called back as he walked through the swinging doors, “Y’all don’t have too much fun without me now!”

Jean edged past Marco so he could sit first. He was relieved to see that the actor hadn’t picked up on the subtext. Or at least didn’t give any outward indication. Dropping his bag, he joined Jean on the red plastic bench.

“You gonna introduce the rest of us, Bookworm?” the other bald man questioned him as they settled down in the booth. A low snort from Jean showed his approval of the nickname.

“I guess I should,” Marco replied, rolling his eyes with a good-natured smile. Gesturing to the bald man, he looked to Jean, “This guy here is Keith Shaddis, retired drill sergeant for the Army.” Shaddis gave a curt nod and reached across the table to shake hands with Jean. Their joined hands hovered across the table for several seconds and Marco cringed slightly. A tiny twitch flickered in the muscles of Jean’s jaw and he knew that Shaddis was squeezing hard, testing the newcomer. When they finally released, both men simply crossed their arms on the table like nothing unusual had happened.

Test passed.

Without skipping a beat, Marco tilted his head to the other man. “And this is Hannes, director of the local VFW and retired member of the Corps of Engineers,” he said. The gears clicked into place and comprehension flashed across Jean’s face, but was quickly smoothed over. Marco’s ankle received a sharp kick under the table and he bit his lip to keep in the yelp of surprise. He probably deserved that.

Hannes quirked an eyebrow up at the way Marco chose to describe him, but smiled warmly all the same. “Any friend of Marco’s is welcome around here. Even if he’s not a Blackhawks fan.” He extended his hand over for a handshake as well, but there was no silly show of machismo this time.

“Nice to meet you both. I’m John. Marco here is helping me with a bit of a research project,” Jean chimed in, saving Marco from having to stumble through an introduction. He reached over to take hold of Marco’s shoulder, giving him what would have looked like a good-natured shake. Strong fingers dug into the muscles and Marco clenched his fists at the pain. It hurt, but that was mainly because he was still sore from the previous night’s match. “I take it these are your friends that you thought could help?” he asked calmly, head tilted as he took in the brunette’s reception of his unspoken scold.

“That’s right,” Marco squeaked. Message received.

A waitress came by at that moment, adding two new coffee mugs and filling them. Jean used his grip to pull Marco in close, hissing so quietly that he had to strain to hear, “I don’t mind, but fucking warn me next time, eh, Bodt?” He nodded subtly in reply, cheeks burning. Worry lanced through his chest as he hoped he hadn’t screwed things up as badly as it seemed.

“What kind of project you doing?” Hannes asked, stirring some creamer into his warmed up coffee.

_Thank you, Hannes._

“Looking into the home life of returning soldiers, especially those from the wars in the Forties and Fifties,” Jean replied, releasing his hold on Marco and turning his attention across the table. The points where the actor’s fingers had pressed in ached dully, but Marco kept from rubbing his shoulder. _Surprising him with pizza and beer… good thing. Breakfast with old veterans… not so much._

The two older men nodding knowingly. “It was different back then. We have a few local veterans from those wars, mostly Korea though, including Dot. Chicago has a lot more. You know a few, don’t ya, Keith?”

“Damn right. Some of Pop’s old friends,” Shaddis answered. “I could get you some contact info and bring it by. Cranky old coots, the lot of ‘em.”

“That would actually be helpful, Keith. Who are you and what did you do with the real Shaddis?” Hannes joked, earning a scowl from his compatriot. “I’ll do the same. You two want to swing by this afternoon for it, Marco?”

“Sure thing. Je-John has to head back to Chicago in a bit, but I can pick up the information. This is really great of you both,” Marco said, almost forgetting that Jean had used a different name. A nudge from Jean’s leg against his let him know that the actor had caught the near mistake. Blush darkened his cheeks, but Marco couldn’t say whether it was because of the goof or the fact that Jean had actually initiated a playful kind of physical contact. Well, at least when not under the influence of alcohol.

“Well that’s settled then. If there’s anything more that I can do to help, just let me know,” Hannes offered pleasantly.

“Appreciate that, Mr. Hannes. And actually, if you don’t mind me asking, when did you both serve?” Jean said. He shrugged out of his motorcycle jacket and settled comfortably into the bench, pouring some sugar into his coffee. Shaddis immediately launched into telling the actor about his time served during Vietnam, both on a tour overseas and as a drill sergeant in a local training facility. The interest on Jean’s face looked genuine. He held the same intent eye contact with the older man that he normally did with Marco.

Shaddis’ stories were ones he had heard countless times before, so Marco zoned out slightly. He found his eyes consistently drawn to Jean. The way the actor leaned forward when asking questions, but relaxed back against the bench when listening. How he kept twirling a spoon in his mug far longer than needed for the small amount of sugar he had added. The odd way he lifted up the mug to drink, holding along the top rim instead of the handle. Mannerisms Marco hadn’t seen previously. Along with the new accent was a politer manner of speech. Jean hadn’t cursed once during the conversation, except when he’d whispered to him.

 _Almost seems like a different person_ , Marco thought. With the cap hiding the lighter hair, several days’ growth of facial hair darkening his features, and the glasses, Jean almost _looked_ like a different person too. The two older men hadn’t given any indication that they recognized him. Marco nearly shrugged it off, figuring they hadn’t seen the movies, but realized how unlikely this was. Even he’d seen one of them now. Sitting next to him was a man almost unrecognizable from the character he’d watched on TV last night, but, as Marco realized, a character nonetheless.

When Marco brought his own mug up to drink, his eyes met Hannes’ gaze. The older man winked at him and flashed him a surreptitious thumbs up at the edge of the table. A mouthed ‘Nicely done’ left Marco nearly choking on the sip of coffee in his mouth, blushing furiously. _Why does everyone seem to think we’re together?_

Mercifully, the waitress came out of the kitchen holding the tray loaded with their food. Marco was pleased to discover that one thing had not changed with Jean’s shifted behaviors: the happy little noises he made when he ate. He struggled to keep the smirk off his face when they started, digging into his own food.

The two veterans filled the remaining conversation with more of their military stories. Hannes was self-deprecating, as usual, about the work he had done in warzones and in more domestic situations, like post-Katrina New Orleans. Any attempts to ask Jean about himself were deflected or answered vaguely and turned around into questions directed towards the men. Marco mostly sat back, feeling like a spectator to the actor’s skillful handling of the discussion. Or rather, the handling being done by ‘John’ the researcher from some unspecified part of Canada.

_Does he even realize he’s doing it? Slipping into these characters? Almost makes it seem like his talent is being wasted on cheesy lines and drawn out action sequences._

Much of the morning crowd had cleared out by the time they finished their breakfast. The dishes were long cleared, bills already paid, and any remnants of Marco’s hangover were now being covered up by his third cup of coffee. His mind buzzed with the caffeine, tapping his foot along with the music – Sinatra’s ‘Come Fly with Me’ – from the jukebox. To his surprise, he noted that Jean was doing the same. _Must like the old stuff too._

“Well, I should head back home. The old bird will be wondering why I hung around this joint so long this morning. Like I have anything better to do with my time,” Shaddis complained, giving Hannes a push to let him out.

The older blonde man glanced at his watch, cursing lightly. “Whoa, running a bit late myself. Good thing I’m my own boss, huh?” He rose, letting Shaddis out.

“I’ll bring that list by after I’ve looked through my address book,” Shaddis said. He gave the group a small salute, tapping two fingers to his forehead, and left the diner.

“It was good seeing you, Marco. I’ll see you later today. Just give me a call to make sure I’m in my office,” Hannes said. “John, nice to meet you. Hope to see you soon.”

Jean reached a hand up to the older man. “It was enlightening. Thanks for being so welcoming.”

“Think nothing of it,” Hannes said, shaking Jean’s hand. He stopped and grinned down at Marco. It was a troublesome expression. The older blonde turned the smile to the actor and continued, “Oh John, remind me next time we get to chat to tell you about how Marco was when he was a kid. Known this guy since him and his dad moved here from Jinae. You were what, Bodt? Ten or twelve or something like that? I’ve got some great stories.”

“Oh please no,” Marco pleaded, tossing a sideways glance to the actor. It was too late. The seed was already planted.

“Count on that, Mr. Hannes,” Jean replied. There was no other way to describe the expression on his face as anything but devilish. Marco pressed his forehead down to the cool table, arms covering his head as if they could somehow protect him from the embarrassment. Jean gave his curved back an almost affectionate rub, leaning in to tease in his normal voice, “I’m starting to like this whole ‘everyone knows fucking everything about you’ aspect of this town. It’ll make it easier to get ammunition as payback for this little stunt.”

He was back, f-bombs and all. A little smile played across Marco’s lips. He tilted his head to peer at Jean through the bend of his elbow. “Watch it, Kirstein. I may just go and Google your butt after all,” he threatened, forcing his tone to be serious in spite of his speeding pulse. The place that the actor had rubbed on his back was still warm from the contact, goosebumps racing over this skin.

“Make sure you use image search for that.”

“Image search?” Marco’s spine stiffened and he shot up straight as he realized what the actor was implying. “Oh! That’s not what I meant!”

Jean cackled loudly, “Sure thing, Bodt. Whatever you say.” Marco whined pitifully as his cheeks burned for the umpteenth time, letting his forehead bang against the tabletop. Fingers clamped down on his scalp and roughly messed up his hair. “Come on, ya puppy. Get up. I can’t get out with you blocking.”

“I’m not friends with you anymore,” Marco muttered. He lifted up his head, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. The actor laughed at him again, shaking his head.

“Come on, Bodt. I have something I want to give you still, before I have to head out,” Jean said, poking at Marco’s side.

“Alright, alright,” Marco relented, scooting out from the booth and grabbing his bag from the floor. Jean climbed out right behind him, pulling his jacket back on as he stood. They left the diner, stopping outside so the actor could light a cigarette. Marco leaned against a wall, watching him curse and fight with a cheap lighter.

It suddenly hit him that he’d been far too lax about Jean’s boundaries, his lifestyle, this morning. Even if Jean seemed like he was willing to let it go, Marco needed to apologize. Sliding his hand up to rub the back of his neck, he drew in a steadying breath. Jean’s eyes looked up to catch his at the sound. He gave the other man a half smile, exhaling with a murmured, “Sorry.”

“’Bout what?” Jean asked, attention returning to the problematic lighter.

“Throwing you in there without warning. It wasn’t planned. I just kinda forget sometimes,” Marco explained, kicking a shoe against the wall and trying to bore holes into the sidewalk with his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Marco played with the strap on his bag, feeling a bit stupid. “I forget that you aren’t local. That meeting new people could mean big problems for you.” He chuckled at himself before finishing the thought. “I forget that you aren’t just a regular person.”

The soft curses went silent. Marco looked up, worried. Jean’s eyes had gone wide, some unreadable emotion leaving them unfocused, his cigarette nearly falling from his gaping mouth. When he realized Marco was watching him, he avoided eye contact and fumbled clumsily with the lighter, cursing in French when it fell from his hand to the ground. Jean snatched it up, ears turning red at the tips and standing out against the blue hat.

He met Marco’s gaze for a split second, shrugging a single shoulder. “Don’t stress about it, Polo,” Jean said, trying to sound nonchalant but not entirely succeeding. The struggle of wills between actor and lighter resumed. It was tempting to let it continue, but pity won out. Marco reached in to take the cursed item from Jean’s hand, coaxing a flame from it on his first try. Jean rolled his eyes, but leaned in to light his cancer stick all the same.

“Terrible habit, you know,” Marco said, smirking.

“Really? Holy fuck. I had no idea,” Jean replied, voice utterly dripping with sarcasm.

The faint tension between them snapped. Smiles that had weakened slightly returned in full force, even if they couldn’t make eye contact for more than a heartbeat at a time. It felt good to get that out. To get back to the laidback rapport they had established last night. It had been gradual, but there had been a steady relaxation of Jean’s personality around him. He was opening up, getting more comfortable with Marco, not freezing at every physical contact and even initiating some of his own.

Jean finally broke the silence. “So, about what you said in there… We’re not friends anymore, huh?” he asked, exhaling towards the street. “Didn’t know we already were.”

“Of course we were. Not the best one in my collection, unfortunately. Canadian friends aren’t worth nearly as much as American ones. Exchange rates and all that,” Marco replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I could be persuaded to add you back for the low low price of a laugh at my lame jokes.”

The actor tried to resist, but ended up laughing loudly, giving Marco’s shoulder a shove. “You really are a dork, Bodt. I guess we’re friends then, eh?” Marco nodded with a grin, savoring the perfect smile that Jean gave him in return. “Alright, I need to get my stuff back at the motel. You heading home or to the library?”

“I guess I’m probably going home, since the only shower I got last night was a rain one. Why?”

“Mind if I drop something off with you? I think it’ll help you direct the research efforts a bit better.”

Marco eyed him curiously, but shrugged. “Sure thing.” He gave Jean directions to his house and they parted ways. Curiosity ate away at Marco’s thoughts as he walked home, wondering what Jean was going to give him. Only one thing came to mind, but it couldn’t possibly be that. The actor could get in huge trouble for giving one away to a person outside the production. And Jean didn’t seem like the type to be that trusting.

 

*******************

 

The ring of the doorbell came just as Marco finished dressing after his rushed shower. He shoved open his bedroom window, sticking his head out and looking down to the front stoop. Jean was waiting there, helmet dangling from his hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. “I’ll be down in a sec!” he called out. Jean looked up, mirrored sunglasses flashing, and gave him a wave. Marco rushed down the stairs, just barely managing to keep from falling. Hand on the door handle, he waited through a few deep breaths before pulling it open.

“Nice door.”

No hello, no manner of normal greeting. “Uh… thanks?” Marco said, vaguely perplexed on how to respond. “Did you want to come in?”

A sly smile flashed over Jean’s face, but the sunglasses made it hard to read his full expression. “Maybe some other time. I need to get on the road.” The actor produced a fabric pouch from the backpack and held it out to Marco. “This is for you. Well, not _for_ you, ‘cause I will need it back. But I’m loaning it to you for the weekend.”

Marco took the pouch and unzipped the side. Inside was a loosely bound stack of papers, not that dissimilar from a novel manuscript. _Oh my God, he’s really giving it to me_. He pulled it out, confirming that it was an honest-to-goodness movie script. Jean’s name was stamped all over it along with a warning not to disseminate it to the public. A massive knot formed in his throat and he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to drive it down. Worry and shock threatened to overwhelm him.

Jean’s warm chuckle flooded into his ears as the actor grabbed his shoulder, squeezing gently. The effect was instantly calming. “Good to know that I don’t have to explain what that is. You look fucking terrified, Polo. I’m counting on you to keep it safe,” Jean told him.

Marco looked up to find the amber eyes peering over the top of the lenses. He blurted out the only word came to mind: “Why?”

The actor titled his head. “Why what?”

“Why give it to me? You could get in big trouble.”

“Oh.” Jean released his hold on Marco, reaching up to awkwardly drag his fingers through his hair. “I figured it was easier than me trying to explain the whole damn plot. Not even sure if I could yet. And I thought you’d probably enjoy it as much as I did.”

A dozen different ways that he could screw this up for Jean flew through his head. His grip on the script tightened, worried that he would drop it and something would happen to it. Jean was taking a risk for him, _on_ him. Marco swallowed hard, not wanting to disrespect him but worried he couldn’t entirely live up to this responsibility. He opened his mouth to argue again, “Jean-”

“Bodt. Just… keep it, ok? Read it. Don’t talk to anyone but me about it. That fucking simple. Live up to that ‘genuine good guy’ persona you’ve been showing me and we’ll be just fine. After all, we’re friends now, right?” The way Jean had said ‘friends’ was so earnest, it made his heart skip. Like that word was far more precious than what he was handing over.

“Yeah… friends,” Marco murmured, cheeks flushing as he repeated it back. He slipped the script back into the pouch and held it against his chest. As if keeping it close to his body would protect it from all harm. He inhaled deeply and tried to shore up his confidence, even if it was weak at best. He forced his expression into a smile, but was fairly certain that it looked pretty miserable still.

“Well that settles it then,” Jean said. He gave Marco one last shoulder thump and turned back to the motorcycle parked in the nearby street. Crouching down next to it, he hooked the sunglasses into the neckline of his shirt and gave the reinforced saddlebags a quick once-over, shoving his backpack into one. It was a little hard to keep from staring.

 _Bless you and curse you, whoever made those skinny jeans_ , Marco thought, temporarily distracted from his worries.

The actor climbed onto the bike, giving him one last ‘movie star perfect’ grin. It flipped like a switch to an absurdly exaggerated glare. “Don’t get me sued, Bodt. After all, I know where you live now,” Jean said, adding a touch of faux menace to his voice. Marco burst out laughing as Jean gave him a small half-bow at the waist. He tugged the helmet over his head, starting the bike. Its engine came to life, purring loudly before letting out a roar as Jean revved the throttle. The actor gave him a small wave before pulling away from the curb and down the street. He was out of sight in seconds.

Marco shoved his hands deep into his pockets, the script zipped safely back in its pouch and under his arm. He frowned at the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. His chest ached and he felt a strange sort of emptiness, like he’d misplaced something important. Forgotten something important. It didn’t feel like he had just said goodbye to someone who could barely be called a new friend. Was this something more than a silly crush on a famous actor?

“He wants you. Dunno if he necessarily realizes that though.” Marco blinked and looked down the sidewalk where the voice had come from. Hanji was walking up to him, safety goggles perched on wild brown hair, wearing scrub pants and a shirt that announced ‘Free Hugs!’ under a lab coat and giggling quietly. “Far too much showing off his ass. Oh the stories I could tell you about the mating habits of orangutans versus humans, if you’d let me. But yes, definitely interested in you.”

“Why does everyone keep thinking that?” Marco asked as his roommate went past him into the house.

“Behavioral science!” Hanji called back.

Marco groaned and went inside, slamming the blue door closed behind him.

 

**************************

 

The drive into the city was relatively uneventful, obscene amounts of traffic aside. Jean slipped between cars, trying to bypass as much of the logjam as he could. He had pushed his luck, lingering in Trost. The next light turned red and he cursed, dropping his feet to the ground to wait. A strong cool breeze rushed in from across the churning lake, drawing Jean’s attention to the water. Its wind-whipped surface seemed to mirror his own distracted state of mind. Cloudy and uncertain, with far more going on below than was visible to the naked eye.

Jean slowly turned his gaze back to the traffic light, looking but not truly seeing. Some downed branches in parks bordering Lake Shore and the occasional puddle were the only evidence of the storm that had blown through the night before. The skies above were clear now, sun warming his back. It made last night seem that much more surreal.

His thoughts drifted back to one specific image: a certain librarian crouching down in nothing but a pair of green boxer briefs. For someone who supposedly spent a lot of time with his nose in a book, Marco hadn’t looked it. _Idiot had said he ‘wasn’t that out of shape’… guy hasn’t got a fucking clue,_ Jean thought with a scowl. While Marco probably wouldn’t have been called muscular, sun-kissed skin with the barest hint of a farmer’s tan had covered a toned physique. Skin that flushed darker along with his face when he was embarrassed.

 _And fuck, was it cute. Mind-numbingly cute. Couldn’t even form a single fucking word until his body was covered cute._ Jean growled his annoyance into the confining helmet, “Giant fucking adorable strawberry.”

And then there were the freckles. It had surprised him, though he had no idea why. The ones that decorated Marco’s face weren’t confined to his cheeks and nose. They clustered on his shoulders and upper back, thinning out as they moved down. Jean could almost picture paint dripping on him from above, some of the drops descending lower and leaving marks where they stopped. Could almost imagine himself running fingers between each of them. Mapping them out. Ingraining each one into his deepening mental picture.

Blood rushed in differing directions, heating up his face and agitating the swarm of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach. Jean’s hands clenched around the motorcycle’s handlebars and he squirmed uncomfortably on the seat. The vibrations from the motor were now distracting on a different level.

A loud blaring horn from the car behind him snapped his senses back to reality. Chicagoans were unforgiving when someone was wasting a green light. One of the drivers made sure to express their displeasure in the form of shouted profanity out an open window. Jean raised his hand in a half-hearted apologetic gesture (instead of the obscene one he would have normally given), gunning the bike through the intersection.

_Get your shit together, Kirschstein. He just agreed to be your friend. Don’t push your damn luck._

Somehow, he managed to push thoughts of Marco out of his head – something getting harder to do – and focused on the traffic and sights of the city. He made it to his building without any further distractions and pulled into the garage. A quick glance at his watch told him there was no time to run upstairs. Grumbling unhappily, he pulled his backpack and other things from the motorcycle’s saddlebags. They were tossed in the back of his Land Rover.

Jean sighed and climbed into the SUV, pulling back out into the buzzing city. His mind started racing – refusing to be tamed for long – as he drove along the highway; all the conversations replayed over again, every touch and smile analyzed for deeper (probably imagined) meaning.

It was going to be a long day.

 

*********************

 

O’Hare Airport, on a good day, was hellacious. Today was not a good day. Jean sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in the arrivals pickup lanes. Cars inched forward when spaces freed up, passengers loaded. The buzz of new message notifications vibrated his phone. He glanced at the screen and smiled. Marco had been sending him texts during the drive and he finally had a chance to read the whole mess of them. Though it did get hard towards the end, what with his hand shaking from laughter.

 

***

Marco: Finalized the arrangements for your interviews with the veterans. Hannes found quite a few willing to talk about their experiences.

Marco: We can discuss it when you have a chance. Set down some specific visit times and whatnot.

Marco: I’ll be unavailable all day tomorrow though. Work.

Marco: It’s children’s reading day at least!

Marco: My favorite day of the month!

Marco: And… you probably don’t care about that. I forget that I’m a nerd.

Marco: You can text me, or something.

Marco: About the research!

Marco: I did start reading the script. I’d love to talk to you about it tonight.

Marco: Or whenever you can. No rush!

Marco: Only have about a million questions about it :D

Marco: Thank you for trusting me with it…

Marco: Um, sorry for the spam. I might be just a little excited!

Marco: About the SCRIPT and RESEARCH. Geez :-/

Marco: You better not be driving and reading these, btw.

Marco: Be safe. Have fun with your friends!

***

 

Jean was about to respond when a new message popped up. His grin deflated slightly. It was just Reiner, letting him know that they were on their way out the doors. He typed back a quick reply to let them know which vehicle he was in. Looking up from his phone, he scanned the various exits from the Arrivals terminal. Jean spotted them instantly. Bertl was hard to miss, towering over the majority of the travelers by at least several inches, if not a foot.

People filed out of the doors, giving his two friends a wide berth. Between Bertl’s height and Reiner’s muscle mass, they made an intimidating pair. _Nearly two metres of nervous, sweaty Canadian and the biggest teddy bear alive_ , Jean thought as he shook his head. He chuckled, “If only you people knew,” and banged on the center of the steering wheel. The sound of his horn didn’t catch their attention, but of course it was just another one being added to the echoing cacophony. Cursing under his breath, Jean climbed out of the SUV and ran towards his friends, waving both arms over his head. Bertl’s anxiety diminished significantly as he spotted Jean.

The two men pushed their way through the crowd to meet Jean halfway. Reaching them, Jean yelped when Bertl pulled him into a hug. He struggled for a few seconds, but eventually sighed and slumped against the much taller man, arms dangling uselessly at his sides. “Yeesh, you giraffe. I missed you too. I guess,” Jean mumbled into Bertl’s chest. Reiner wrapped his arms around them both with crushing force, drawing out pained groans. “Fuck, Rei! I didn’t miss _you_ that much,” he gasped out, trying to wrench free from the vice grip.

They all cringed at the shrill yell of a parking attendant. “SIR! This is a loading zone! You need to get back in your vehicle!”

Reiner released them and the trio gathered up the mess of carry-on and laptop bags around their feet. Jean led them back to the SUV and they piled in; Bertl into the rear with his legs stretched to the far side and Reiner in the front. They weren’t even out of the crushing traffic before the big blonde had overtaken the conversation, animatedly telling the (highly exaggerated) story of his most recent disaster of a date.

The awkward silence from the backseat was unnerving, especially since Bertl wouldn’t meet Jean’s gaze when he tried to look at him in the mirror. Whatever it was, his friend wasn’t going to talk until he was ready. Jean had a sinking feeling that Annie was to blame. Which meant his break was not going to last as long as he’d hoped. And that this visit was going to be exceptionally unpleasant.

Neither of those thoughts gave him any comfort. He sighed, wishing he could ease the other man’s anxiety, but knowing there was no chance of it. He mentally gave thanks for the distraction Reiner provided and focused his attention there instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize that it took so long to update. Some of that time was eaten by another big project, but it's also been difficult to find the chance to write for extended periods of time between work and other real life things. I hope you all enjoy this update.
> 
> This actually ended up being only the first half of my planned chapter. The other half is still in progress (~2500 words so far). It is dialogue heavy and full of angsty Jean, but I promise it will have a VERY good ending. ^_^
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my writing cheerleaders: WingedMermaid and Fanonorcanon. I don't know what I'd do without you. Also, thank you HdotK for the lovely [art](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/90670321713/in-a-flash-of-silly-inspiration-marco-jumped-to) you did and for shooting the shit with me on Twitter and Skype. You're a wonderfully bad influence.
> 
> The usual links....  
> [My Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com)  
> [](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/tagged/chapter-teases>Chapter%20Teases,%20status%20updates,%20and%20one-shots%20set%20in%20the%20'Whoops-verse'</a%20href>)
> 
> 09/02/14 (Update) - Chapter 8 is in the works. My apologies for the long wait. Explanation of the situation can be found [here](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/post/95797948778/writing-status). In the future, I will probably be writing shorter chapters so that I can get them up more frequently. As of this moment, Chapter 8 is at ~7500 words.


	8. The Quiet One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean finds out what Bertl was so anxious about...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, it's been ages. I'm quite sorry. I wish there was more, but this chapter keeps growing and growing. I got this scene completed and figured I'd at least give folks something to chew on while I finish the remaining three scenes I had intended to be part of this chapter.
> 
> Angsty Jean with a lot of dialogue is a bitch to write, on top of everything else. I think from now on... I'm not going to try to be so ambitious with chapters. One or two scenes rather than the four I've been trying to write and struggling with. It'll mean shorter chapters, but more frequent updates.

State of the art and immaculately clean (thanks to professional services), the kitchen in Jean’s apartment always felt a bit cold to him. Every appliance was shiny and metal, the cabinets black, and the counters a stark white. It had an untouchable air to it, like fingerprints and spills would require it to all be torn out and redone. A large island dominated the middle, complete with a breakfast bar where Bertl had settled in with his laptop bag. The big guy barely needed to bend his legs to perch on one of the stools.

It was the perfect rich bachelor kitchen, and he hated it.

Reiner was poking through the refrigerator, grumbling about its utter lack of contents. “Condiments, alcohol, Thai take-out containers, and bottled water. This is seriously pitiful, Jean.” The freezer was opened to similar complaints. Like it was somehow a major crime that it was empty, when no one had been in the apartment for months.

“Isn’t that why we stopped?” Jean teased, nudging him aside to grab two bottles of water. Bertl pulled out his laptop, a Christmas gift from Jean that he had only just managed to convince him to keep. “Work?” he asked, plunking the extra bottle down. His friend nodded, continuing to dig through the bag. Jean sighed at the brunette, the awkward air between them showing no signs of relief. _Fucking silent giant. Wish you’d just spit it out._

Jean took a long swig of water, emptying the Whole Foods bags onto the counter. All the food was healthy and organic and no fun at all, which is exactly why Reiner had chosen it. _Damn health-nut_. There was no stopping him when he was in full-blown trainer mode.

Having discovered the iPhone dock for the sound system, Reiner had dropped his phone in and was queueing up some music to cook to. The smooth intro to a Jackson Five hit played out over the hidden speakers in the room. Jean couldn’t help but laugh as the bleach-blonde bobbed his head to the beat and did a slide across the tiles, stopping next to him.

“Another thing there, my good friend. Along with your likely terrible eating habits over the last few days, I noticed something else,” Reiner said as he loomed behind Jean, hips swaying to the song. Strong hands patted down Jean’s chest until they were met with the sound of crinkling plastic from the breast pocket of his motorcycle jacket. Before Jean could even realize what was happening and try to stop him, his friend had snatched the pack of cigarettes out and crushed it. “You reek of cigarette smoke.”

“Jerkoff. That was a new pack,” Jean growled, slamming his ass back against the smirking bigger man. The brick of solid muscle didn’t move an inch. Reiner just laughed and pulled away, Bertl’s quiet snorting chuckles mixing in. The crumpled package was dropped into a stainless steel trashcan with barely a sound.

“You’ll thank me when it’s time to start training again.”

A huff of air was the only response Jean would give. His mind raced with smartass replies: _What if I don’t do any more of the movies that require me to be that fit? Would you let me off the hook then?_ _Not like a couple a day is really gonna be that bad anyways._ Teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as he bit hard to keep from letting the words fly. Reiner was just trying to keep him healthy, do what he’d done since they first met.

Remembering that was just enough to take the edge off of how much it rankled his pride. Barely.

It only took a few minutes to put away the remaining groceries, even with Reiner dancing around the whole time. Jean helped without verbal protest, silently fuming. He managed to sneak in a few pokes and elbow nudges, though they were mostly shrugged off by the oversized man. The soft tapping of computer keys as Bertl worked on his laptop were the only sounds the other man made. As Reiner started pulling out various pots, utensils, and mixing bowls, Jean turned his attention to the island.

There it was. The reason for Bertl’s silence and avoidance.

_Should have opted for an apartment with a fireplace._

The stack of papers on the counter in front of Jean could have been a pile of cow manure. He would have looked at it with the same measure of disgust and horror. It had appeared there, likely from the depths of Bertl’s bag. Sitting just beyond arm’s reach from the laptop, like his friend wanted nothing to do with them either. His manager’s tight but overly large handwriting was scrawled across a note paperclipped to the top.

_Fuck you, Annie._

Too hot, too angry. He couldn’t hold back this time. The venom burned through him. “Is that what I think it is?” Jean demanded, doing his best to control the tone of his voice. “It better fucking not be.” Bertl’s eyes remained glued to his laptop screen but his long fingers had stilled against the keyboard. Reiner stopped his search through the cupboards to look at him.

“What are you going on about, Kirschstein?” Reiner asked, confused. Jean gestured to the papers before crossing his arms over his chest. He huffed angrily and glared at Bertl. Willing him to look up, to respond, to own up to the situation. One of Reiner’s thin blond brows ticked upwards as he looked between the two friends.

Bertl finally broke the silence, but wouldn’t meet Jean’s gaze. “It’s a hard copy of the schedule Annie already sent you in an email. And some contracts for you to look over. Including the Survey Corps one.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He strode quickly to the island, grabbed the stack, and dumped the whole thing in the trash. There was a sharp intake of breath from both the other men.

“Feel better now that you did that?” Reiner asked him, his tone measured and a little too quiet.

“Yes.”

“You are an actual goddamn five-year-old,” came the scold. Reiner’s hulking arm looped around Jean’s neck and held tight, dragging him over to Bertl and giving the brunette the same treatment. They were both hauled to the doorway and released out of the kitchen with a push. “Now get out of here. Both of you. Go in the other room. You’re under foot and I need to cook,” Reiner said as he shooed them away. “Work your shit out. Tired of the tension.”

Jean whirled to respond but found the door slamming closed mere centimeters from his nose. The wood received a swift kick, but the only acknowledgement from inside was an increase to the volume on Reiner’s pop music. His head snapped back to look at Bertl. The guy practically looked like a scolded puppy. His head was tilted, eyes down. But Jean saw it. The hint of a smile on one side of his mouth. “Nothing out of you about my temper. You lost the privilege. In the living room. We need to talk.”

Stomping past the taller man, Jean led the way into the next room. Yet another ‘bachelor ideal’ that some know-it-all interior designer had decorated for him with Annie’s input instead of his own. Everything about the apartment was grating on him. The living room alone was bigger than the entire motel room he had stayed at the prior night, and yet it felt like it was closing in, crushing him. Floor to ceiling windows dominated one of the walls. He walked over to them, drawing the curtains aside and looking out over the lake, touching his forehead to the cool glass.

Dread crept into Jean’s chest, cold and heavy. Bertl had been too closed off, too nervous. This was going to be uncomfortable and he didn’t even know where to start. Faint creaking sounds carried over to him as his friend settled onto one of the room’s couches. His slow deliberate breaths left clouds of fog on the glass, his fading anger in visible form.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” Bertl asked.

The voice almost startled him. His fist clenched around the thick material, annoyance still hovering close to the surface. “Aside from Annie injecting work shit into what was supposed to be some time off?” Jean growled.

“Yes, aside from that.”

The room dropped back into semi-darkness when Jean released the curtains back over the window. Grabbing at the remote on the coffee table, he turned on the oversized TV to drown out some of their conversation. Not that Reiner would probably hear it over the pop music blasting from the kitchen. He flipped through a few channels until he found some random Chicago baseball game. He tossed the remote back on the table along with his phone and turned his gaze back to his friend.

For a big guy, Bertl had this tendency to fold himself up in as small of a space as possible. The oversized couch should have been long enough for him to stretch out fully and lie down, but he was sitting in the corner, legs curled up to his chest, arms protectively wrapped around them. It made it really hard to ever stay mad at him for long.

Annie using him as a messenger was unfair. Jean sighed and flopped into an overstuffed armchair, hands rifling through his hair. “A lot’s happened in the past few days.”

When he didn’t immediately elaborate, Bertl gently prodded him, “Like?”

“I’m thinking that my career needs to go in a different direction. And Annie isn’t gonna like it.”

“You’re planning to reject the contract extension on more Survey Corps movies.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Jean muttered.

Bertl frowned deeply, shaking his head. “Annie definitely won’t like that. Those movies are –”

“The whole reason I have an acting career at all. I _know_ ,” Jean interrupted him, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad knees. He’d heard this same argument more times than he cared to count. “Does that mean I owe my whole life to them?”

“It’s just a few movies, Jean. Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“That’s just the thing. That’s what everyone _always_ says,” Jean said, fingers threading together in his lap. “It’s not _just_ the movies, not _just_ the filming.” He took a deep breath, the corner of his mouth shifting up into a half smile. “Hell, that’s the part I actually like. Diving into the characters. Telling the story.”

He looked up at his friend, who was waiting in silence for him to explain. The thought struck him that Bertl and Marco both seemed to know when to stay quiet. But their manner was very different. Bertl looked nervous and tense, putting Jean on edge and making him want to fill the void, chatter endlessly. A state that often resulted in severe foot-in-mouth problems. Marco exuded a calmness that spread to those around him, giving a sense that he was listening with rapt attention but no pressure.

“It’s everything _else_ that goes along with it, when the filming is done,” Jean sighed, looping the linked hands behind his neck and slumping deeper into the chair. “All the extra shit.” This was one of those times when Bertl’s perspective made it harder to connect. The people in his life generally knew what he did, but watching was not the same as living it.

“Thought Annie kept your schedule limited. Had you doing less than the others.”

A breath rushed noisily out of his mouth as he shook his head. “It’s still too much. They always pressed for more – interviews, photo sessions, radio spots, premieres – especially after things got stupid popular.” Jean’s eyes pinched shut, hands gripping hard against the back of his head. “Other movies aren’t like this, but I get why she thinks I need to do more of them. It’s just… They take over _everything_ , every aspect of my life.”

Resting his chin on his knees, Bertl just replied with a small “Oh.”

The crack of a bat against a ball triggered a roar from the crowd on the TV. An announcer relayed the activity of the fast-paced play. Noise filled the tense void, if only for a moment.

Jean dragged his hands across the top of his head – smoothing over the messy rat’s nest his hair had become – and down to cover his face. When he opened his eyes to peer through the barest cracks between his fingers, Bertl was watching him closely. Worry to an extent he had never seen in his friend clouded his solemn expression. Jean groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sorry to dump on you. And get pissy.” Stubble scraped his skin as he slid his palms down his jaw. He must look a bit like hell, which probably wasn’t making his friends feel any more at ease about his running off.

“S’ok,” Bertl shrugged. “Used to it… with the three of you.” His long fingers sought out the fraying bottom edge of well-worn pants. A weak smile flickered on Jean’s lips. Bertl’s little tick. Fingernails scratched at the material, pulling a couple new threads loose with the nervous fidgeting. A few beads of sweat were already forming near the brown hair edging his temples.

_Completely impossible to hate this guy, even for a second_. Jean’s eyes shifted to the TV, watching the game with vague interest. Discomfort gnawed at his stomach, but he was struggling to find the best way to talk it out. For some reason, without anything changing, it felt like the distance between them had grown.

“… similar, you know.” Unsure if he had heard him correctly, Jean looked up to Bertl’s face, which flushed at the realization that he’d spoken aloud. He had been mumbling barely loud enough to be heard over all the background noise. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs, Jean waved his hand in a ‘please continue’ gesture. “Just thinkin’. You and Annie… you’re a lot alike.”

“Eh?! Where’d that come from?” Jean blurted in response.

He was ignored. Bertl just kept talking without letting himself be interrupted.

“Stubborn… “

_Not gonna argue that._

“Pig-headed…”

_That’s a little low._

“Don’t let anyone in… Bottle it all up… Never say what you’re really feeling…”

“Well shit, Bert. Tell me how you really feel,” Jean finally cut in with a snort.

“Jean, you know I don’t mean it like that…” Bertl reached up to scratch at the back of his head, his other arm gripping his legs tighter. If that was even possible. “It’s just… when I went to talk to Annie… You guys… It sucks when you clash like this.”

“Tch. Not like this is the first – “

“Just stop. It hasn’t been like this before. From either of you.” The long legs slowly uncoiled, one slipping under the other, bent at the knee. Bertl’s hands slicked the sweat from his temples back into his hair as he drew in a ragged breath. “Drag me in the middle… I could smack both of you.” Tired exasperation replaced the worry that had been creasing his friend’s brows. “Why do I put up with this?”

“Too much brains, not enough common sense?” Jean ventured with a grin. A white leather throw pillow was chucked in his direction. It hit him square in the chest and fell into his lap. “Man, I honestly don’t know sometimes. You’ve stuck with me longer than anyone.” Bertl had been putting up with him since Toronto, before his career started. In a life with little privacy and less trust, it had been nice to have someone who knew the Jean from _before_.

“Maybe ‘cause I only see you every once in a while?” A hint of a smile teased at the corners of his friend’s lips. They both knew there was the tiniest grain of truth to his words.

“Something like that.” Jean let his eyes drop, focusing on the pillow in his hands. _More like near limitless tolerance, between me, Reiner, and Annie_ , Jean thought. Silence descended between them, interrupted solely by sounds from the baseball game. Bertl was going to wait him out, make him ask. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer, but he needed to do it all the same. “How pissed is she?”

“More worried than angry now. Course she’d never admit it.”

“She wouldn’t be Annie if she did.”

“True enough.” Bertl let out a colossal sigh. “You scared her, you know? All of us, actually.” The green eyes looking back at Jean failed to hide the hurt that had been lingering just below the surface.

It wasn’t just Annie who couldn’t say how she really felt. His agent needed to maintain at least some professional distance, so he understood that was why she could be so cold sometimes. Jean knew that the others, especially the Musketeers and Reiner, had enough going on with their lives to worry about his antics. Bertl was speaking for himself. Jean grimaced. “Figured as much.”

Bertl nodded, eyes dropping down to focus on the hands now resting in his lap. “Even when you take your little breaks, you don’t usually cut off completely.”

“It felt different this time. Dunno. Guess I did let it build up or something. Like you said.”

“Annie wouldn’t tell me much. Just that it was really bad. The fight.”

_Massive understatement, if there ever was one_. Jean was pretty sure that everyone in the office had heard their ‘conversation’ (screaming match would be a better description) word for word, even behind closed doors. “It was. She wouldn’t listen. At all.” His fists clenched as he tried to hold back his own frustrations from resurfacing and making him want to lash out. _It’s not his fault_ , he reminded himself.

“I think she realized that much afterwards. Don’t tell her I told you this… you spooked her enough that she just might now.”

“Huh, really?” Jean replied with surprise. It hadn’t been his intention, at least not for that reason, when he’d left. An opening was an opening though, even if it left the slightly bitter taste of guilt in his mouth.

“There’s a ‘but’ that goes with it though. You need to listen to her too. About Survey Corps.” Jean threw up his hands, rolling his eyes with a groan. Bertl’s expression flashed with annoyance, a scowl – if it could be called that – lining his face. “See, that… that right there. You are both so stubborn.”

The anger bubbled back up, just slightly. It was rare to see so much emotion from his friend, and it left him wondering just how much Bertl had been holding back. The big guy stood up and moved to the other end of the couch, closer to where Jean’s chair was.

“This role is a gay guy, correct?” Bertl asked. Jean nodded once. “In the closet?”

“At first, yeah.”

“Is he forced out and ostracized? Loses out on certain aspects of life?”

“Yes.” The questions were starting to make him uncomfortable. Jean shifted in his seat, not meeting his friend’s gaze. He could guess at the correlations Bertl was trying to point out.

“Hmm. Did you ever think maybe she’s trying to protect you?”

Again with the implication that he needed to be kept sheltered, treated with kid gloves, told what to do and what to avoid. Frustration gripped at Jean's chest as he hugged the pillow to it and grumbled, “From fucking _what_ , exactly?” The reply had come out a little harsher than he had intended.

“That mouth.”

Jean’s eyes snapped up, full of fight and fire. It was beyond blunt, even for his friend. “Holy fuck, Bert. You’re really pulling no punches.”

“I… I know,” Bertl said, surprised embarrassment flushing his face. “It… just kinda came out. But… still needed to be said.”

“I get that, sorta. But what the hell do you mean by it?”

Reaching over, his friend placed a hand on his knee. The touch was probably supposed to calm him, but it just made Jean feel even more anxious. After a few slow breaths, Bertl spoke again. “You’re gonna get asked a lot of questions if you do this movie. The kind you hate. The ones that make you mad. And you don’t have the best filter, Jean.”

His own face burned red as he remembered the recent incident where his snark had run away from him without thinking. And it was true that it was far from the first time. But when it counted, he always had his masks. “I’ve dealt with those kinds of questions before. It’ll be no different,” Jean said, forcing his voice to be firm.

“You say that now, but after you get asked the same thing at every interview? I know you hate lying, and you can only avoid answering so long. They’ll question you about your relationship with Reiner, with Levi and Erwin, even though those two are not ‘public’ about it. Ask why you never seem to be in a serious relationship.”

“Now _you’re_ the one sounding like Annie.”

“How so?”

“Five years ago. She made it clear that I needed to quote, ‘Keep it under wraps, kid, at least until you’re established.’ Still pisses me off, but I did it.”

“Much as you may hate to admit it, she had a point and – “

_Oh fuck no._ Jean shot up to his feet, the pillow falling to the ground. Bertl yanked his hand back and stared up at him, completely perplexed. _Get out get out get out… before you say something to lose one of the few friends you have._ “Want a beer? I need a beer,” Jean blurted, walking back out of the living room. He didn’t even let his friend answer.

Leaving the room in a rush, Jean blew into the kitchen, ignoring the look Reiner shot in his direction. He yanked open the fridge and stood there, lingering like he was contemplating his choice. He reached in to pull out several bottles of beer. Turning, he found Reiner standing close to him, bottle opener in hand, and a far more sympathetic smile on the wide face than he probably deserved.

“Going that well?” Reiner asked, taking one of the bottles from him and opening it. Not even offering it to Jean, he took a drink as he returned to check the contents of a pan on the stovetop, rich aromas filling the room. Healthy or not, Reiner's cooking always smelled amazing.

Jean set all but one of the other bottles on the counter, opening it and downing half in a long gulp. “It’s going so good, I need to wash the taste of shoe out of my mouth,” Jean laughed before finishing the bottle. “How do I even have friends?”

“We all love your Mom,” Reiner replied with a serious expression as he cracked the lids off two more bottles and handed them over. “Get back in there and do your best, you drunken Canadian wuss. Food’s almost ready.”

The volume on the TV had been muted when Jean returned to the room. Bertl was sitting cross-legged on the couch, picking at the hem of one of his pant legs and lost in thought. Jean dropped onto the cushion next to him, hard enough to make the springs squeak loudly. His friend startled and looked over, wordlessly taking a beer from Jean’s extended hand.

Bertl was back to scolded puppy mode. Silently holding onto the bottle with both hands. Gaze focused directly on the floor. Jean sighed loudly, muttering a "Spit it out" before taking a sip of the cold alcohol.

“Who’s Marco?”

Jean jolted and nearly spat out his mouthful of beer. He glanced down at the phone on the table. It was flashing with a text message notification. _God fucking damnit._ He contemplated lying for a split second, but instantly realized that would be unfair to someone he did still consider a good friend.

"A new friend. Librarian in a nearby little suburb. We've been getting to know one another since I came out here," Jean said finally. "And he's... helping me."

"Helping with what?"

"Research for the role."

"So he's just a normal guy?"

"Pretty much. We met by chance. He didn't even know who I was at first."

"Is that all there is to it?"

Taking a long swig, Jean contemplated the best way to answer. How he could even explain the whirlwind that he'd been pulled into the last few days. How he could even put words to feelings he hadn't sorted out in his own mind yet. "Honestly, I don't know. There's... _something_ to him. Something special. I think I might... possibly... maybe... like him," he admitted.

"Christ, Jean," Bertl groaned. His friend raked a hand through his hair before downing half the bottle of beer he had been neglecting. "I take it he's not straight then?"

"He's gay."

"Are you seriously considering starting something with him?"

Teeth gnawed at the corner of his mouth. It was a question that had been running through his head non-stop since that first night. When his dreams had been filled with Marco's face. The answer was already clear, though he was only just now admitting it to himself. He met Bert's gaze for a second and nodded. "It had crossed my mind."

One of Bertl's large hands slapped Jean upside the back of his head, hard. Jean flinched in reaction, but didn't retaliate. "You passionate idiot. Always flying off half-cocked. Never considering the consequences." Bertl reached over and snagged his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "Let me ask you something, Jean. Ignoring yourself, your career, your image, just… think about this. Can you drag some small town gay guy into the life you lead?"

The words hit him hard. It was rare for Bertl to get so fired up, so physical. It shook him badly.

But...

Something about Trost – about Marco – had made him forget about the outside world, about anything beyond the bubble of peace that radiated from the little suburban town and his favorite resident. Hell, it made him _want_ to forget about everything else. To just be normal again.

He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't form any words. There was a world of difference between 'can' and 'should' when it came to his answer the question. And Jean wasn't sure he really wanted to decide right this second.

"Jean. You don't have to answer me. It was rhetorical. Just... please think about it. Don't rush anything. Especially if you're going to do this other movie," Bertl said, releasing his grip and turning away. His friend nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. "I know that at least part of why you keep me around is to help you look at things differently. Even if you don't realize that's why."

"Aw come on, man. You know it's more than that."

"Oh I know. Just sayin'. It's a bit tough to stand in the periphery of your life though," Bertl said with a small smile. "Even if you're like a brother to me."

Jean leaned over, banging his shoulder against the other man's. "I'm the hot brother then."

"You wish."

Tension loosened between them as they both laughed. His friend's words still weighed heavily on his thoughts, even as he finished off his drink. Reiner stuck his head in the room, ladle in hand. All he needed was a frilly apron to complete the housewife image.

"Laughter's a good sign. Come help me set places and serve up this food," Reiner said.

Dinner felt like old times from before Jean's life - and by extension Bertl and Reiner's lives - had been dragged into the insanity that was associated with celebrity. It was easy to slip back into it, like a well-worn sweatshirt, full of comfort and fond memories. And it brought to mind long nights of too much alcohol, honesty, and laughter when there was no filming the next day. Jean found himself wishing the Musketeers were there too.

The conversation slowly shifted to hockey, as it always tended to when he was around Bertl. Reiner grew grumpier by the minute, clearing the dishes and putting the leftovers away. When he returned to the table, Bertl was mentioning that they should watch the night's games together (even though his Habs weren't playing), just like they used to.

“Oh come on. We’re in Chicago, it’s a weekend, and you’re telling me that you two are gonna sit here, drink beer, and watch hockey all night?” Reiner asked, slamming his hands down.

Bertl and Jean looked at one another before turning to the big blonde. They chimed in at exactly the same time, “Yes.”

“Aw hell. Screw you both. I’m hitting Boystown on my own.” The big blonde stalked out of the room. Mutterings of ‘damn Canadians’ and ‘need more gay friends’ drifted back their way. Their drunken laughter followed him.

The remainder of the night passed in a haze of beer and hockey, but the questions still lingered in Jean's mind, relentless and troubling. Was this strange connection with Marco something worth all the turmoil it would bring into both their lives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen it, please do check out the beautiful art I commissioned from lazy-afternooner [here](http://lazy-afternooner.tumblr.com/post/95118838261/how-long-i-been-out-not-sure-it-was-long). She's amazing and a real treat to work with. The girlish screams I made when I saw the final product were nearly glass-shattering.
> 
> Thank you so much to my two cheerleaders. You lovely ladies have been a massive support through a really tough time. I love you guys.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up in comments or on my [Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com)


	9. The Passionate One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertl told Jean to use his head, but does Reiner think the same?

_(Another new 'accessory' for Jean Kirstein's arm! How many is that this year? Four? Five?)_

"-ow-ass Canadian! Move your feet!"

"Shuttup!"

_(Maybe we should call them beards. He certainly doesn't seem to hold onto any woman long)_

“Faster, Jean! Push harder, damnit!”

“Fuck you, Braun!”

_(Use 'em and lose 'em. Must be nice to be able to sleep with anyone you want to, huh, Mr. Action Star?)_

“If you can talk, you aren’t doing enough!”

Jean growled, shoving his thoughts down, and dug in harder, pumping his legs faster. They already felt like lead and his head was pounding from lack of caffeine. Reiner gave him a hard slap on the ass and Jean glared at his friend. Early morning runs, especially on a beach, were not his favorite way to start a day, especially with ‘Mr Morning Sunshine’ relentlessly goading him. Gritty sand had worked its way into his shoes, getting into his socks and rubbing his feet raw. He was definitely paying for being a lazy piece of shit the last few days.

Reiner bolted past him, chest heaving with exertion, and Jean gave chase. They ran full tilt side by side for several more minutes before collapsing onto the beach, panting hard. How Reiner could be this peppy, this full of energy, after staying out drinking later than he and Bertl had been up was beyond him.

_Not to mention bringing home Mr. Magic Fingers, the one night stand. At least they could have been more quiet about it._ Jean shuddered at the memory.

Lake Michigan’s murky water lapped sluggishly against the shoreline. The sun had barely climbed above the shimmering horizon. It looked almost inviting, given the sand stuck to his sweat-covered arms and legs, but he knew it would be icy cold. Jean heaved himself upright and spread his legs in front of him, stretching out the muscles before he cooled off too much. Reiner looked at him with a smile, pleased that he didn’t have to tell him.

The pair sat in silence for several minutes, helping each other cool down and stretch out. Reiner tossed Jean a bottle of water from the ridiculously pink fanny pack strapped to his waist. It had felt good to be outside and exercise (though he’d never tell Reiner that), to get out of his head and focus on the burn, at least for a little while. With the workout done, he wouldn’t be able to avoid thinking for long.

His eyes tracked a sailboat as it cut across the horizon, driven quickly by the wind gusting over the lake. A shiver ran through him as the breeze rolled across the beach, though not entirely from the chill.

Reiner had started talking fitness regimens and maintenance meal plans, but Jean wasn’t listening. It had been six years of essentially the same thing; he could rattle it off almost as easily as his friend. Consistent and regular but light training between movies, intense workouts and highly restricted diets in the weeks close to and during filming.

_Care and feeding of your secretly bisexual action movie star_ , he thought bitterly. _Have to make sure I’m every woman’s fantasy and the guy every straight man wants to be_. Jean’s hands clenched around the bottle, the empty pit that had been in his stomach since last night was growing deeper and threatening to pull him down inside. _I can endure this, but it's not fair to ask others to for my sake. Especially not **him**._

“… banged Micheline so hard she couldn’t walk straight.”

Jean’s head snapped around at that, anger flaring through him as he got ready to tear into his friend. Reiner was sitting with his arms crossed under his oversized pecs, an incredulous smirk on his face. He lifted an eyebrow at Jean and huffed, “So you heard _that_. Before you haul off and punch me, need I remind you I’m one hundred percent whole homo? And that you were the one spacing out and ignoring me?”

His head dropped, the heat of his irritation flooding out as quickly as it had roared in. “I guess I deserved that one,” Jean muttered. He looked back up, squinting and giving his best apologetic smile.

“Dude, stop with that face. It’s kinda scary,” Reiner said, giving his shoulder a thump. His friend’s eyes watched him for a few moments, humor covering over something else. Sympathy probably. Jean turned away, looking back out to the sunrise.

“You know, Braun, this would almost be romantic with different company.”

Reiner laughed softly and made an affirmative noise. A bulky arm slung across Jean’s shoulders as they both watched the sailboat slipping further away. “Hey Jean-bo. You seem… different,” Reiner told him, his voice filled with calm sincerity. “More like when I first met you. Get the feeling there’s a lot that’s happened since you left LA, am I right?”

“Could say that,” Jean replied. He took a long drink of the tepid water in his bottle.

“Personal or professional?”

“Both.”

“Oh really? Now you have me intrigued,” Reiner squeezed Jean harder and gave him a good shake. “Spill it, whichever one you want first.”

“Hmm… Professional.”

“Gah! You’re no fun,” Reiner pouted. “You and Bert just talked hockey all night and now you’re making me wait longer? Asshole. I’m gonna charge you for this workout session now.”

“Uh huh. Just like you’ve been charging me for the last year or so.”

Reiner released his hold and pushed Jean just enough to make him fall back into the cold sand of the beach. "Those weren't freebies. That was to repay you for putting up the capital on my gym."

"Whatever. You just like spending time with me."

It was almost easy to forget they were in the middle of a huge city laying there. The pinks and warm hues in the east cooled into purples and blues as his eyes drifted upwards. His friend flopped down next to him, letting out a groan that was a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. _Even the big guy gets tired_ , Jean thought with a smirk.

Jean turned to look and found he was being watched, again. _Am I really worrying them that much?_ Reiner's eyebrows bobbed up in a 'Well?' kind of gesture and they shared a smile.

“I read that script. You know, the one that Erwin’s friend wrote? About the guy discharged from the military for being gay in the Forties?” Reiner nodded and Jean continued, “Well, it stuck in my head. I’ve never wanted to do a film as badly as I wanted to do this one. But Annie had rejected it almost instantly. We ended up having this huge argument and I left, came out here.” He gritted his teeth at the memory, digging both hands into his hair and gathering fistfuls of the shorts strands. Even after talking things out a bit with Bertl, it still stung. “I just couldn’t take it, couldn’t take being in LA another minute. I felt like I was drowning or suffocating. Just couldn’t breathe.”

“And you had to get away, more than usual?”

“Mm hmm. Eventually just went to LAX and jumped on the first flight I could get on, which happened to be to Chicago. Lucky me, since I already have a place here, ya know? I get here and – fucking shock of the year – the damn paps aren’t waiting for me. Almost didn’t know what the hell to do with myself.”

“I’d wondered why you didn’t have a swarm around you when you picked us up.”

“I fucking know, right? Only thing I’d brought with me was the script and my bag of art shit and it’s the middle of the damn night. Swung by the apartment and picked up a car. Went for a drive out of the city.”

“You’re bizarre as hell sometimes, Kirschstein. No one following you, recording your every move, and you just go for a country drive?” Reiner let out a loud guffaw, his whole body shaking.

“Shut the fuck up, you ass.” Jean tried to shove him but couldn’t budge the burly trainer. He laid back in the sand, arms tucked behind his head.

“You know, my ass is my best feature,” Reiner replied with utter seriousness.

Jean rolled his eyes, letting out a sputtering laugh before continuing with his story. “I run into this town that should be like any other suburb. But it’s got this almost Pleasantville vibe to it. The whole downtown has this matching style. Ended up parking the car and just sketching for a while. I was really drawn to what I originally thought was a church, but ended up it had been converted to a library.”

“Sounds like a nice place.”

“It really is.” Jean could almost sense the raised eyebrows likely climbing Reiner’s forehead, but didn’t let him ask. “But I’ll tell you more about that some other time. Once it wasn't the buttcrack of dawn, I called the casting director of that movie, and scheduled an audition without Annie’s ok.”

“Holy shit. She’s really gonna kick your ass.”

“Pretty fucking likely. The casting director recommended research, since it’s going to be a period piece. And lucky me, library sitting right in front of me.”

“Wait, wait wait… film school dropout Jean Kirschstein willingly walked into a library?” Reiner asked, earning a punch in a thick bicep. A justified hit that was not returned. The trainer rubbed the sore spot as he laughed. “You must really want to do this movie.”

“I do, actually.” Jean rolled onto his side, propping his head up to look Reiner in the face. “Is it really so out there? I mean, what would you do if you achieved what you thought you wanted, and you still felt incomplete?”

“Hello random,” Reiner replied, eyebrow arching up.

“Eh? I don’t think it is. I feel like I need change and this is a really good chance for it,” Jean said. He reached over to push the eyebrow back down. It put up a strong fight, only losing out when a grain of sand fell into Reiner’s eye from Jean’s hand, making the big blonde blink.

A chuckle huffed out of Reiner’s nose as he swatted Jean away. “Then I’m glad you’re doing it. I got your back.”

“Bertl says he does too. But he thinks I need to give in to doing more Survey movies.”

“Oh drat, more training time with me. Whatever would you do without that?”

“Smoke, drink, eat the foods I want, sleep,” Jean retorted.

"You do that anyways. I pretty much have to ride you non-stop to get you to stick with it," Reiner teased, sitting up and dusting the sand off his back.

"The ultimate power bottom complaining about riding someone?"

Jean had to move quickly to dodge Reiner's strike, rolling up into a partial crouch. The big blonde ended up with a fist full of sand instead of his t-shirt. He smirked at his friend and stuck out his tongue.

"Takes one to know one," Reiner shot back.

"That was told to Erwin in confidence!" Jean grumbled, still grinning as he rolled his eyes. There was something to be said for not having to hide those parts of himself around Reiner, to just let it all out. "You need to hang around him less. Damn old men."

The dawn had finally broken and the city was starting to stir. Even though the beach had been empty, a few joggers and other people were starting to dot the shoreline. Jean passed a wary glance in the direction of one pair as they ran past, but they ignored the two strange men lingering on the sand. He straightened up, extending a hand down to Reiner.

His friend clasped it, and Jean half-hauled him to his feet. Reiner gave him a hard smack on the butt and asked, "You gonna continue to keep me in suspense about the personal part? Found someone in Pleasantville, right?"

Jean nodded, rubbing a hand lightly over the stinging skin that would surely have Reiner's handprint on it. "Someone... different."

"I'd already figured something was going on with all the secretive texting you were doing yesterday in the grocery store."

"I wasn't being secretive," Jean huffed. He had thought he'd been nonchalant about it. Once Marco got on a roll, he chattered in text form almost as much as he did in person. It was a bit impossible not to get swept up in his enthusiasm. He'd peppered Jean with questions on and off all night. Though Marco did eventually give up when Jean got too into the game (and beer) to properly respond.

"Oh don't bullshit a bullshitter. You were doing that one smile. The one you do when you think no one's looking."

"I don't have any smile like that." He turned away, hoping Reiner didn't see the red staining the tips of his ears at the lie.

The pair started walking back to the parking lot, following the line of the slatted fence running in an unbalanced line across the sand. Reiner slung an arm across his shoulders, leaning heavily against Jean. "And this would be the part where you'd be talking about how beautiful her hair or eyes or smile is... but you aren't. Which has me very curious. So tell me about this mystery love interest."

Jean tried to shake Reiner off - unsuccessfully - only to have his friend take hold of his shirt to keep him close. He decided to drag things out a bit longer, just to annoy Reiner. "The hair is very dark, really soft, and gets a little curly when it's wet. Eyes like a cup of coffee you want to drown in on a cold morning. And a smile that's as addictive as my damn cigarettes."

"You're killing me, Jean-bo."

It was a little spooky how easy it was to talk Marco up. Probably not a good thing for the whole 'staying friends' idea. But the words just continued to flow.

"Funny, honest, and sheltered, a bit of a bookworm, had to be told who I was."

"Just get on with it!"

"Not sure if they're interested in me like that. Maybe I should just keep it friends or something."

"Can I just beat you over the head with a rolled up People magazine? Even I've contemplated hooking up with you at times."

"Hah! I knew it!"

"Idiot! Just tell me!"

"But I'm having so much fun fucking with you!"

Reiner shoved Jean's head downwards, yanking his sweaty shirt upwards. Even though he knew what was coming, it was hard to avoid with his arms pinned inside the material. He tried to squirm away and ended up falling in the sand, the grains sticking to his skin. Thick fingers were placed gently against very specific spots. Jean's nerves were instantly on edge as he tried to hold back the giggles he could feel threatening to burst out.

"If you don't start talking, I start torturing."

"Alright, alright, alright. Uncle. I surrender. Whatever," Jean said, his voice muffled by the shirt's material.

"About damn time." Released, Jean yanked his shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it as his friend's face. "Ya know, it is painfully obvious why Annie never lets you do interviews without prescreening the questions and prepping you," Reiner said. "You're so easy to rile up."

"What do you want to know?"

"The usual stuff."

They both stood up, Reiner handing the shirt back so Jean could use it to wipe off as much of the sand as possible. "It's a guy. A librarian named Marco," Jean told him, eyes not looking up to meet his friend's gaze.

"And? Tell me more."

_Well that was different_. It was far from the response he had been expecting. Micheline, Bertl, they'd both had that 'Good God Jean why don't you think' tone when he'd mentioned it. Eyes blinking, Jean scratched his head. "Wait, you think it's fine?"

"Someone tell you it wasn't?" When Jean didn't deny it, Reiner breathed in sharply. "So that's it. Bert, you ass."

"It's not like that - " Jean started. Reiner's hand palmed his head like a basketball, tilting it up. It wasn't annoyance or judgment in his friend's eyes. All he saw was worry.

_Why do they all look at me like I'm broken and need help?_

“I have a feeling that I know what Bert said, what he managed to get into your head. He probably warned you off, right? All logical and rational and pure thinking, yeah?"

"Pretty much."

"So you're thinking, 'Oh, I don't want to mess up this guy's life' or something stupid like that. Ugh, don't answer. I already see from your face that your puny brain was coming up with something exactly along those lines. And you're supposed to be smarter than me."

"Hey!"

Reiner popped Jean on the top of his head before grabbing his skull again and giving it a shake. "I’m gonna ask you to think about all of this another way. Before writing this off, before you walk away without giving it a chance… shouldn’t you see how this guy feels about it?"

He blinked. The barely forming resolve from the night before shattered in an instant. "You might be right," Jean agreed, reluctantly. The hand released him. Jean wordlessly dropped his gaze and turned away, heading towards the parking lot again.

Laughing loudly, Reiner followed after him. "It's not 'might', it's definitely. Let's get you back to Pleasantville." There was a light rattling of keys as Reiner dug the set out of his pack and tossed them into the air. Jean barely turned around to catch them in time.

"You don't mind me abandoning you again?"

"Oh hell no. I've got a date with the guy from last night."

Jean shook his head. "I pity poor Bertl then. You dragging him along?"

"You bet. He's bringing his housemate along. Says she's really funny and nice. Figured maybe I could distract her with the giant puppy while I monopolize his time. Honestly, you'd just be an impediment at this point. I hate how hot you are sometimes. Asshole."

The lights flashed on the BMW as Jean hit the key fob to unlock the car. They were about to climb in when a high pitched squeal cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard. Jean's skin crawled at the sound of it.

"O-M-F-G! You're him, aren't you! No one else would have that tattoo! Gene Kirsteen!"

A muscle along his jaw twitched in annoyance. Taking a slow breath in, Jean blew it out and plastered his best sly smile across his face. Anyone who knew him would have recognized it as completely forced, one of his weakest masks, but the young woman nearly swooned. Lifting a single finger to his mouth, pursing his lips against it, he winked at her.  It was unlikely she would keep quiet, but it was worth a shot.

Reiner was already inside and buckled when Jean dropped into his seat, rapidly starting the car and throwing it into reverse. A slew of curses poured out from his lips as he pulled out of the parking lot. It wouldn't take long for that news to hit. Especially since he was fairly certain that the woman had a phone out.

"Getting back to Pleasantville sounding better by the minute huh?"

"You could definitely say that," Jean replied, his fist slamming against the center of the steering wheel. The tranquility he'd found was threatening to fall away. He rushed as quickly as traffic allowed back to high rise, knowing it was only a matter of time before the sharks started circling.

\--------------------

**_Jean Kirstein - Hiding out in Chicago!_ **

**_Sexiest Man of the Year seen working out with long-time trainer. New movie in the works?_ **

**_Still-single Kirstein found by fan on Chicago beach without a shirt! Candid TMZ photo exclusives!_ **

\---------------------

It had taken an hour, if that. Jean's shower-damp hair left smears on the glass as he stared down towards the streets below.  Paparazzi were already gathering.  The blood was in the water.

_FUCK!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short chapter, but real life has made it hard to motivate myself to write lately. Thanks for the support! Hopefully I'll have another update soon :)


	10. Dreams & Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean returns to Trost... and things get bizarre, but nice.

_I owe you a big one, Reiner._

~~~

“It’s his trainer!”

“Mr. Braun! Mr. Braun! Why are you in Chicago?”

“What is Jean doing here? Is there a new movie that hasn’t been disclosed?”

“Are you here for reasons other than training?”

“Why was Jean hiding out? Is there a new love interest?”

“All you people are gonna need to ask those kinds of questions to the person with the answers. Whether his cranky self will respond, well, that’s up to him. I’m just here visiting a friend, who happened to join me for my morning workout. Now, if you all need some place to do the same, I’m opening my own gym in LA and looking to branch out in Chicago and New York if it’s successful…”

~~~

The throaty rev of the Triumph's engine echoed and filled the concrete parking garage. Jean tore between the lines of expensive cars, barely ducking under the barrier gate as it started to move up to allow him out. He squeaked into traffic between two large trucks, dodging the paparazzi gathered near the entrance of his building. None made a move to follow him.

_Suck it!_

There was always a rush to escaping the pack of bottom feeders, to sneaking away. Granted, it had been made easier by Reiner’s (intentionally) timely exit through the high-rise’s front doors, but it still felt good. Jean grinned widely inside his helmet, weaving between cars as he hurried through the Saturday traffic of the city.

Returning to Trost took less time than before. Jean sent up a silent prayer of thanks that there had been no state troopers along the highway. His speeds had been a touch on the excessive side. White and red buildings rose up as he neared the town. With just that sight, he could already feel the anxiety that had been steadily rising since he had left begin to melt away.

Cars cruised down the streets and people filled the sidewalks. The town was buzzing with activity. Even the library’s parking lot was full, a major difference to the weekdays when he had visited previously. Circling the block, Jean managed to find a space along a side street. Everything seemed more alive on the weekend.

Jean tugged off the helmet, locking it onto his bike before carefully checking his reflection in a car window. His helmet thankfully had not made too big of a mess of things. Reiner had practically dragged him out of the bathroom as he was getting ready earlier, but he'd needed to look _just right_.

Two preteen girls walked behind him, darting their gazes away and giggling into their hands. He slipped on his mirrored sunglasses to partially hide the red on his cheeks. It had been awhile since he'd felt so lame. Hunching his shoulders, dipping his head, shoving his hands in his pockets – all little adjustments to his posture to draw less attention to himself – Jean set off towards the pillared entrance to Marco's haven.

Peals of children’s laughter rang through the library, echoing little despite the high ceilings. A quick glance at the desk had confirmed that Marco was somewhere in the main part of the building. It had been Sasha sitting behind it, helping people check out. Remembering that she was apparently a fan of his movies, Jean opted to look for himself.

Adults and teenagers roamed between the stacks; some searched the shelves, others walked past with arms loaded, and a few had their noses firmly between the pages of a book. It was definitely livelier on weekends compared to the few days that Jean had visited before. Jean wandered among the stacks, blending in, turning to look at titles whenever anyone looked his way.

The sounds of children grew louder the further he got into the library. Jean worked his way in that direction, figuring that it was a likely place to find the librarian. Rows of bookshelves gave way to an open area ringed by wood railings decorated with drawings, paintings, and other art projects.

In the middle of the floor was a large group of small children, their parents occupying the folding chairs arranged in a half-circle around a brightly colored rainbow rug. Every single kid had on a crown made of construction paper: some were plain, others coated in glitter, a few decorated with countless stickers, and some were covered with crayon drawings. At the edge of the group, perched on a low stool, wearing his own paper crown and holding up an illustrated book, was Marco.

Jean halted at the edge of the bookshelves, ducking back before he was seen. Approaching the librarian right now was not going to be an option. He roughly scratched at the hair along the base of his skull, mentally kicking himself for forgetting that Marco had told him this was a special day. Not that he’d really had much of a plan aside from ‘get back to Trost.’

All the children began clapping as Marco announced the title and author of the book, “Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.” Jean was close enough to hear him, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the librarian’s enthusiasm and charisma. _One of my favorites as a kid_ , he thought idly. Leaning his head just past the edge of the shelves, he peeked out to watch. The whole crowd was completely transfixed.

_Not that I have any fucking clue what that’s like_ , Jean thought, rolling his eyes at himself.

Marco had opened the book to the first page. Jean noticed that the librarian did not even look down to know exactly what was written there. Silence settled over the group and Jean found himself holding his breath, unable to wipe the smile off his face as Marco started to read.

“The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind… and another… his mother called him ‘WILD THING’!” Each word rang out in the library, a few people wandering through stopped to listen as well. Marco even made sure to change his voice for the mother, high-pitched and scolding. Muffled giggles tittered among the children and their parents.

A quiet snort vibrated in Jean’s nose and he clamped a hand over his face. “Too fucking cute,” he muttered into his palm.

“And Max said… ‘I’LL EAT YOU UP!” Marco continued, snapping his teeth together in an exaggerated fashion. “So he was sent to bed without eating anything.” He led the group in a collective ‘aww’ for poor Max before starting into the story again. Jean couldn’t keep the grin on his face from growing wider by the second.

Childhood memories added a twinge of nostalgia. He and Micheline reading this exact book together. His father coming home between tours of duty and tucking him into bed with tales of distant lands. Lyrical French from his mother as she read an old book of fairy tales. Normally thinking about the past left him feeling empty, but this time was different. Marco’s voice… Marco’s warm smile as he cheerfully shared one of his favorite stories with a room full of people filled that void.

There was a quiet buzz from the phone in his pocket. Jean managed to tear his eyes away from the adorable scene to tug it out. Sure enough, there was a message from Reiner checking in that he had made it safely. With a chuckle, he replied back that he was there and not going to chicken out, which would have been his friend’s next question.

Lifting the phone up, he opened SnapChat and took a photo of Marco in his paper crown happily telling everyone about Max’s journey to where the wild things are. He punched in a quick tag of ‘fucking reading to kids. im fucking dying’ and sent it on to Reiner. Jean hesitated a moment, phone still in hand. Even if it all went to hell, if it didn’t go like he hoped it would, this was a sight he wanted to remember. Using the regular camera, he snapped a quick picture of Marco. The end result was perfect. He’d managed to capture Marco with a huge grin, the warm sunlight pouring in the library’s windows giving his face a gentle glow.

“You know, if I didn’t know you were taking that of Marco, I’d probably be calling the cops to report a possible pedophile,” came a quiet male voice from behind him.

_Oh fuck._

Jean cringed as his ears burned hot. He jammed the phone back in his pants, as if that would somehow matter considering he’d already been caught. Turning slowly, he found that his gaze had to drop several feet to find the owner of the voice. And it probably couldn’t have been worse. Marco’s friend from the community center. _No, wait_ , Jean mentally corrected himself, _hadn’t he said this guy was one of his best friends?_

The little blonde was giggling, hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, which was unfairly cute. Jean crossed his arms over his chest and tried to lean nonchalantly against one of the bookshelves. His arm brushed against some books, knocking the row over like a set of dominoes and sending a few toppling onto the floor. His face flushed and he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. _I should just call myself Marco_ , he grumbled internally, thinking back to the first night he was in this same library, purposely flustering some of the librarian’s attempts to seem cool.

Marco’s friend had stopped laughing and rolled closer, bending down to pick up a few of the scattered books. He looked up with a reassuring smile. “I was just pulling your chain a bit,” he said warmly. “Take a look around in there. Half of the other people watching are taking pictures or videos too.”

Turning his head, Jean took a quick glance around the open area where the children’s reading was taking place. The guy was right. Video cameras, digital cameras, and phones were all being held high. The sight made him nervous, but Marco seemed completely unphased.

“Still a bit hard to believe, but you really are _that_ Jean, aren’t you?” Armin asked quietly.

Jean ran a shaky hand through his hair, grinning back. “Yeah, I am.”

Armin reached his fingers up to his lips, twisted an imaginary key against them, and tossed it away. “Secret’s safe with me,” he said. “I don’t think any of us really want those types here anymore than you.”

Like Marco, Armin gave off an aura of sincerity and honesty. The shrewd intelligence in the eyes watching him so closely made him feel transparent. “I’d hate to bring that kind of chaos here,” he assured the other man.

The blonde head bobbed with a quick nod. "Unlike our favorite librarian over there, I'm acquainted, at least a little, with your opinions about those bottom-feeders." They both laughed, getting them a hard look from a nearby grandparent.

“Armin Arlert,” the friend said, reaching out a hand. The introduction was unnecessary, but maybe he didn’t know that.

“Marco’s best friend, right? Nice to meet you,” Jean replied with a wink. If Armin was surprised, he hid it well.

Jean took hold of Armin's extended hand, shaking it firmly. It was heavily calloused and powerful for how small it was. There was a note of a challenge to the handshake, much like meeting with Shaddis at the diner.

However, this was not a test of strength, but of something else. Worthiness, trust, sincerity? Jean wasn’t sure, but the sparkle that flashed in the pale blue eyes seemed to mean he passed. It felt like he had been sized up by a sibling instead of a friend. After releasing him, Armin handed over the books he had gathered so Jean could put them back on the shelf.

"So Marco's already talked to you about me, at least a little."

Jean nodded. "We talked about a lot the other night."

"I heard," Armin replied, letting the words hang, gauging the reaction. Jean had figured Marco would at least talk a little about the situation, so he shrugged. So far, no one had made the press aware of his presence in this town, so it seemed Marco placed his trust well.

"I thought I'd pop in, surprise him. Realizing now that it wasn't the best plan. But most of our time hasn't exactly been thought out."

"As long as you enjoy it, what's a little spontaneity matter?" Armin leaned forward, grinning now, "I hear you actually managed to get him to watch a movie that was not Oscar nominated, an adaptation of a book, or involved libraries."

The two shared a laugh again, only to be shushed at by another nearby patron. The woman did a double-take on Jean, and he nervously looked away. Reaching up, he grabbed the back of his neck to block her from getting a close look at him.

_Shit shit shit. Look back to the cute librarian wearing the paper crown and making all the kids laugh, goddamnit. Absolutely nothing to see here._

"Walk with me," Armin said, gesturing away from the story time crowd. The wheelchair spun with ease as he turned it around. Jean started to reach for the handles and immediately retracted his hands when the other man pointedly cleared his throat. Jean gave Marco one last look before he followed after Armin.

\----

The late morning sun had warmed the chill out of the spring air. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of early flowers from the walled courtyard behind the library. Even though the inside of the library had been crowded, Marco's work-in-progress gardens weren't drawing many visitors.

Armin had taken them outside without a word to Jean, though he had returned greetings to nearly every person they passed. Just kind enough, but not lingering. _Honestly a bit unreal how nice all these damn people are. Like a fucking sitcom._ It felt bizarre not to be the center of attention. If everyone focused on the locals he was with, it meant that they were less likely to notice him. Probably a very good thing in the end.

"Figured it was best to get you out of there." A short ways away from the building, Armin stopped and glanced towards Jean, rubbing at his chin and chuckling nervously. “That was probably closer than it needed to be. Sorry about that.”

"Not your fault," Jean replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It wouldn't have been the first time, and it won't be the last. At least you didn't have to see shit truly get ugly."

The scene they had avoided was one he'd seen countless times. Nothing worse than seeing friends and acquaintances act completely out of character just because a famous face appears in front of them. Jean frowned at the all too common memories.

"Can't be any worse than the local Wal-Mart on Black Friday. Now that's ugly. I've seen Keith Shaddis trip a teenager to get a flat screen. Or maybe it was just because he didn't like the kid," Armin told him, smiling and watching expectantly.

A chuckle snuck out, despite Jean's annoyance at the situation. The little guy practically radiated sunshine when he smiled, it was hard to not feel a tiny bit cheered by him.

The soft chime of a text notification had them both pulling out their phones. It wasn't Jean's. Armin's smile changed to something softer, deeper, as if he had forgotten that he was with someone else.

"Something good?" Jean asked.

Blue eyes flickered up in his direction, but dropped immediately back down. "Um, shoot, yeah. I, uh, I'm going to have to leave you to fend for yourself from here, Jean. My ride is out front," Armin told him, not looking up from the screen as he tapped out a reply.

"No worries. You helped enough already."

"BUT... since I can’t give you the proper nickel tour of Trost, I will let you know a few things." His phone was slipped into a jacket pocket. The little blonde held up a hand, adding a finger for each point as he rattled them off quickly. "Number one, Marco's going to be busy and unavailable for at least another hour or so. Two, there's an amazing café right across the street from his house and you can wait for him there. Three, ask for his table. Oh, and the lunch special. Finally, make the first move. I adore my friend, but he's a little too self-conscious."

Blood rushed to his cheeks and crept up to his ears. Jean was left blinking, his mouth gaping at the sudden information overload. One of the laughing blue eyes winked at him as Armin waved his upraised hand. "Good luck, Jean. See you later."

"Th-thanks," he managed, waving back automatically.

The whirlwind of helpful cheer wheeled away at an unexpectedly high speed. Shaking his head, Jean turned to go around the building in the direction of Marco's home, as best as he could remember it.

\-------

Sure enough, across the street from Marco's row house was a café occupying the corner of the block. A hanging wood sign swayed gently in the breeze, the name "Café Reliant" painted across it. All brick and massive windows, it fit nicely into the neighborhood.

Jean stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it into a trashcan. He opened the door, a brass bell hanging from the top tinkling merrily to announce his arrival. The inside was filled with warm sunlight and rich scents of baked goods, coffee, and spiced teas.

Very different from Pixis' Place.

Instead of crotchety old men crowded at a long counter, small round tables occupied by older women in bright red hats filled the space. Classical music played so faintly as to be just audible over the conversation. A kind looking woman with long brown hair tied loosely by a red ribbon came out from the kitchen.

"Good afternoon. Would you like to take a seat?"

"Yeah, I would," Jean replied, glancing at her nametag. "Carla."

Her welcoming smile grew in appreciation. "Any place in particular? It's not too crowded."

"Well, Armin told me to ask for Marco's table."

"Oh! I didn't realize you knew the boys. Come come! You're lucky it's available. Tends to be pretty popular," Carla said as she grabbed a menu and led him to the side of the restaurant facing Marco's house.

The table was at the end of the row, separated from the rest of the café by a bamboo screen divider. Unlike the iron and wood everywhere else, this table was ringed by three stuffed upholstered chairs. A pang of guilt immediately hit him. It was the same material as the couch from the library. The one he had dirtied. The one Marco had likely cleaned already, despite telling Jean that he'd need to do it.

Choosing the chair that gave him the best view out the window (and of the blue door across the way), he settled in. He waved off the menu, ordering the special - as instructed - and some coffee. Aside from the chairs, there was one other unusual difference to the table. A stack of tiny Post-its and a decorated cup full of pens and other writing utensils.

Carla returned with a steaming mug and a basket loaded with various sweeteners and creamers. "Anything else I can get you while you wait?" she asked.

"No, this is fine. But, what's with the paper and pens?"

"Hmm, I would have thought you'd know, since you asked to sit here. They're bookmarks."

"Bookmarks?"

Pointing behind Jean, Carla smiled. "For Marco's collection."

A set of hanging shelves were loaded with various books, each one with its own handmade sign. Marco’s tight script was surrounded by what had to have been art projects of a much younger individual. Glitter glue, drawings, and stickers covered every spare inch.

**\--For the young (or young at heart)--**

\-- **For those with more mature sensibilities--**

**\--For those who actually like the Classics (all three of us)--**

 

The last one made him sputter out a laugh. Below the shelves was a framed piece that was definitely not the work of a child. A watercolor design of the crests that adorned the stone above the main library doors. Over it was beautiful calligraphy explaining the collection.

 

**Please feel free to read any of these books while you are in the café, but make sure you leave them behind for others.**

**(Save your place with a bookmark!)**

**All books here are available to borrow (FOR FREE!) down the street at the Trost Library.**

**Enjoy!**

 

Jean found himself wondering if the librarian ever turned it off. He chuckled and reached up to the lowest shelf, pulling out a copy of _Bridge to Terabithia._ Its pages held multiple little ‘bookmarks,’ most with names scrawled in child-like handwriting.

“One of Armin’s favorites,” Carla commented. “He and Marco would sit there, every day, reading and chatting. Planning out their lives. Marco always wanted that house with the blue door, and to be a librarian.”

"He really followed his dream, huh?"

"Definitely." The woman smiled broadly. "I'll be back with your food in a little bit."

Acknowledging her with a mumbled ‘thanks,’ Jean cracked open the book.

The time flew by as he waited in the comfortable chair, re-reading the story he had loved as a kid. At some point, his food had appeared on the table. When the scent hit him, his attention was immediately yanked from the pages. Croque-madame. Another of his mother’s specialties. Reiner would probably scold him, again, for not eating rabbit food, but he didn’t care. Especially after the first bite. He would definitely have to thank Armin for sending him there.

Dishes were cleared as soon as he was done, his check paid. As he reached for the book again, the text chime chirped from his phone. Picking it up, he sighed resignedly. At the insistence of Bert and Reiner, he had gotten back in contact with Annie. The message was one he had hoped wouldn’t come.

***

**Annie: Need you here first thing Monday. You going to come back?**

***

His real life, his career, _his_ dream, was pulling him back. If he was going to convince Annie to let him change, to grow, it was going to have to be done in person. Jean replied with a quick confirmation, dreading the end to his brief reprieve. As he put the phone down, a figure walked up to the blue door across the street.

_Now to make the most out of the time I still have left here_ , Jean thought, rising and quickly heading out of the café.

 

\---------------------

 

“Yeah yeah, Connie. I hear ya. Hot blonde. Totally built,” Marco said into the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. "Wait... What's TMZ again?" He asked, tugging out his keys and working them in the lock. "You know I don't pay attention to that stuff." The old tumbler put up an intense and sticky fight. "I am not hopeless." The urge to roll his eyes was intense.   “No, I can’t come out tonight. It’s Mo’s birthday… I will not get a coronary from being ‘pent up’… Good grief man. Aren’t you taking Sasha with you?” He sighed and took the phone in hand, pushing the door open. “Next time, ok? _If_ I’m free… Talk to you later!”

The house seemed empty when Marco walked in. No sounds met his ears and Hanji didn’t respond when he called out an “Anyone home?” into the kitchen. Silence was the only reply. He toed his loafers off his feet, kicking them onto a pile of shoes near the door. His button-down shirt was pulled out from his pants, rumpled and wrinkled, and he started to unbutton it as he walked into the living room.

An old roll-top desk dominated a corner of the room. Marco tugged open one of the drawers and drew out the pouch containing the script Jean had given him. Unzipping the pouch, he took it out again, a giddy happiness filling his chest.

Tiny Post-its and tabs stuck out along the edges like feathers, his own reference system for his steadily accumulating research. The now dog-eared pages had barely left his hands since Jean had trusted him with it yesterday morning. It had even been difficult to leave it behind just to go work for the morning. He headed towards the kitchen to read while he ate lunch.

A forceful knock on the door stopped him.

Running through a mental checklist, Marco couldn’t figure out who would even be visiting. No one had called or messaged him. Most of his friends had already seen him at the library or during his quick stop at the farmer’s market before work. Curling the script into a tube, he tucked it under his arm and went to the entryway. He tugged open the still-unlocked door, half-expecting Girl Scouts or something of that type. Instead, there was a stoop occupied by the Sexiest Man of the Year.

“Hey, strawberry.”

Jean looked every bit the title, even in casual clothes. Marco couldn’t stop himself from taking in a long appreciative look from head to toe. His two-toned hair actually looked like it had been styled by something other than a hat, helmet, or hand. The now-familiar mirrored sunglasses were dangling from the collar of a mossy green Henley. A short black vest hung loose from the broad shoulders, tight dark grey jeans hugged the narrow waist just below the hip bones.

_All that's missing is the perfect romantic song playing in the background as the lead takes center stage._

Some beat-up leather Chucks looked out of place and made Marco feel a little less self-conscious about his own appearance. Even with that, he found himself unconsciously smoothing out the wrinkles from his own shirt, trying to look more presentable. “Hello, Jean,” Marco managed – by some unknown miracle – to say before his silence lasted too long.

Tilting his head, Jean gestured towards the interior of the house. “Invitation to come in still open?”

Marco nodded dumbly, his ability to speak still inhibited by the practically shining actor. If Jean wanted to throw people for a loop, it didn’t seem like it would take much. Or maybe that was just an added side effect of the silly crush. Jean brushed past him and entered the house. Marco pulled back from the light contact, all too conscious of the other man.

The door was closed, shutting out the city noises and dropping them into comfortable silence. Jean looked relaxed, shoulders loose and his smile not fading even when he wasn’t focusing on it. Like the weight that had been pulling him down had been lifted, at least a little. _Probably thanks to the friends visiting_. Marco watched quietly as the blonde took a look around, poking his head into the living room and muttering faintly.

"Should I be worried that my tiny house has disappointed you?" Marco asked.

"Dork. I was actually thinking it's nice and cozy, or some shit like that. Suits you."

His narrow little home that was a cramped hodgepodge of second hand furniture and randomness had earned the Jean seal of approval. Marco laughed, wondering whether he should have a plaque made. He was half-tempted to do just that and see if he could crack Jean up. “Why are you praising this place when yours are probably a billion times nicer?”

“Because I like it. Just that simple.” Jean leaned against the wide archway leading into the living room. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave Marco his best exaggerated pout and shook his head. “Learn to take a damn compliment, Polo, I swear.”

Lifting up his hands in surrender, Marco grinned. “Alright, alright, alright. Compliment taken. But do come by sometime when it’s not as messy.”

“If this is your idea of messy,” Jean said, sweeping an arm around, “Remind me to never let you near my trailer. You’d probably keel the fuck over.”

Somehow, Marco knew that the blonde wasn’t exactly exaggerating. If the hotel room had been any indication, that is. _Not entirely perfect, then._ Every little imperfection made Jean seem a little less out of reach, a little more human. Even if it was wishful thinking.

“Strawberry, is that thing the script? ‘Cause that’s… a lot of fucking Post-its. You really aren’t messing around, eh?”

Marco followed Jean’s gaze to his hands. He had forgotten all about it once its owner had shown up at the door. He nodded, unrolling it from its curled shape. “I figured writing directly on it wasn’t a good idea, so yeah, Post-its. When I get going on something, I give it everything I can.”

Jean pushed off of the wall, walking closer to him, hand outstretched. "You're holding onto that like it's a treasure. Am I even going to be able to get it back so I can learn my lines?" Jean asked.

“Maybe. Though, you know, I could just help you or something. And keep it for just a bit longer.”

"Do you think it's that good?"

Marco clutched the script in his hands, reluctant to return it. His eyes focused on the title, his thumb running along the edge of the pages, fanning them out. He wanted to flip open to his favorite sections, the ones that made his heart ache and brought tears to his eyes. The temptation had been high to make his own copy. One to re-read, to savor, to break in, to have fall apart like some of his most-loved books. Knowing Jean had placed it in his trust was the only thing that had kept him from giving in.

“This movie… is one I would actually want to see. That sounds silly, given that one of my all-time favorites is ‘The Mummy’… so um, not exactly the most ringing endorsement, I know. The story is so beautiful, the characters so broken and yet real and perfect in their own ways. Even setting aside the social commentary that it will spur, it’s fascinating. I’m actually a little embarrassed that I knew so little about blue discharges and their effect on the soldiers coming home."

Drawing in a deep breath, he gave Jean a moment to interrupt him before rambling on again. His fists clenched around the script, using the rough edges to anchor him for a moment. He didn't dare to look up, afraid to see if Jean was staring at him like some crazed fan or someone of that type. The actor stayed quiet, waiting, so he launched back into it.

"A role like this, well, it’s drastically different from anything you’ve probably done. Of course, I’ve only seen a few things, and I haven’t really seen the rest, but anyways. It could be a massive risk though, especially for a straight actor, to play a gay character. Not that other straight actors haven’t pulled it off and earned accolades for it. I mean look at ‘Brokeback Mountain’ and ‘Philadelphia’ and ‘Milk’ and probably others I can’t think of right now, but you know how clueless I am. I can see why some people would worry about your image though. The action hero playing a gay outcast - "

“ - Bodt.” Jean's voice was much closer. He had moved in as Marco let his mouth run off, edging into his personal space. Cigarettes, cologne, and coffee. _Jean_. The scent filled his nose.

The proximity sent chills over his body, arms tingling, and a rush of heat down his spine followed immediately after. Marco couldn’t pull his eyes from the cover of the script, couldn’t remember how to breathe, couldn’t remember how to speak. Anything else he had been going to say died on his tongue. He knew that amber gaze was watching him, but he couldn’t meet it. Blood pounded into his ears, so loud that he almost didn’t hear Jean when he spoke.

“I’m not straight.”

It was so quiet and hesitant, barely enough to be called a whisper. Marco’s eyes went wide and he swallowed hard. _I had to have heard that wrong. There’s no way_ , he thought. He screwed his eyelids shut, gripping the script harder, trying to focus on something other than how difficult it was inhale. The smell of Jean’s cologne was going to his head.

“Wh-what did you say?” Marco croaked, the sound of his voice filling him with embarrassment. Too eager, too hopeful. The blush was already warming his cheeks.

“I am… Not straight,” Jean enunciated, voice still unsure but fractionally louder.

Marco’s heart thudded to a stop and he slowly looked up. Jean was close – frighteningly, intensely, mind-numbingly close. Close enough to see the tiny downturn of Jean’s lips. The worried crinkle of his brow. The nervous determination in his eyes. The red darkening the tips of his ears.

This man standing in front of him was not the one who had been filled with bravado and confidence – a front, as Marco was now realizing – on the night they met. This was _Jean_ , behind the walls, beneath the roles he insulated himself in. This was the _real_ person. The one he’d seen hints of, the one he’d been trying to pull out.

_That can’t be right, can it?_

The reason – at least one of them – as to why the walls were there in the first place suddenly hit home. Marco blinked rapidly, thoughts scattering and flitting away from him as he tried to gather and sort them out, somehow process this new information. “But I thought…”

“What I let you and everyone else think. Because it was easier,” Jean interrupted him. “Marco… you’re the first person I’ve actually _corrected_ , actually _told_ in… fucking hell, it’s been _years_.”

Marco was floored. “Why are you telling me? Trusting _me_?” he asked, quiet but more like himself.

Jean’s hands closed over his, sliding up to take the script out of his vice grip and setting it on a nearby table. “In case it matters…”

He couldn't resist touching the vulnerable face. Marco’s hand curved around the hard line of Jean’s jaw, clean-shaven for the first time since they’d met. With the slightest of pressure, he tilted the amber eyes up to meet his, the pad of his thumb gently running across Jean’s cheek. Any remnants of his masks were brushed away by those soft touches. Jean had opened a door just wide enough for Marco to step through, or close gently.

And the choice was obvious. “It does,” he said.

The distance between them evaporated. Jean's lips met his, tentative at first, almost chaste, only grazing lightly before pulling back. A tease. The amber eyes were half-hidden under heavy lids, and Marco figured his looked the same. They both knew that brief kiss was not enough, not long enough. Their breaths mingled for a beat, their eyes locked on each other. Jean’s nose brushed against his, encouraging him, baiting him. Tilting his head just so, Marco closed the gap on his own this time, kissing the _real_ Jean.

Jean’s mouth pressed hard against him, quickly finding their rhythm. Tongues caressed lips, slipping between, sliding wetly over each other. Strong fingers tangled into his hair, holding on for dear life. Only one thought immediately flashed through Marco’s mind as he melted into the sensation: Damn, he's good.

He let his hands wander slowly down Jean’s back, the vivid memory of tattooed wings over defined muscle adding more fuel to the fire growing in his gut. One that blazed even hotter as the embrace grew tighter, pulling the actor’s perfect body hard against him. The adorably sexy noises Jean made in response were almost the same as his ‘good food’ moans. Which now meant Marco could never share a meal with him without his mind going straight to the gutter.  A true sacrifice.

Pulling away with a nip to Marco’s bottom lip, Jean rose up on his toes, pressing their foreheads together. They were both panting and grinning like excited kids. It didn’t feel real.  Marco wanted to pinch himself, but that would require removing his hands from where they were gripping the lean hips.  Something that was absolutely not going to happen.

"What are we doing here?" Jean asked, nudging their noses together again.

"I really don't know. Do you want to stop?"

"Hell fucking no."

His hair received a tug as Jean pulled him back in, claiming his mouth and stepping into him. Marco had to walk back to keep from falling over, hitting the wall a few steps behind him with a loud thud. A few picture frames rattled dangerously, but stayed in place. They both laughed into the kiss, refusing to break apart.

"Ah-he-he-hem!"

Jean startled and jumped away. All Marco could do was groan. Hanji had been in the house after all.

“Wasn’t there something in the rules you told me about no sex in the common areas of the house? Or was that only applicable to me?”

It was hard to resist slapping his forehead, but Marco managed. Jean sniggering behind a hand didn’t help matters though.

“That was not sex.”

“Potato, potatoe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

“In that?” Jean asked.

Hanji was clad in a pair of ragged jeans and a shirt that read ‘You’re the most beautiful person in the world.’ “Yup!” was the immediate reply.

“It’s great, Hanj. Sure they’ll love it,” Marco said, biting his tongue. He poked Jean to keep him quiet.

His roommate walked past, grabbing a pair of clunky combat boots and a leather bomber jacket. Back now to the two men, they barely contained their giggling at the message on the back (Fancy a fuck?). Hanji turned to them before opening the front door to wink and mouth ‘Behavioral Science!’ in Marco’s direction.

As soon as Hanji was gone, they collapsed to the floor in a heap of laughter. Several minutes later, breathless from everything that had happened, Jean leaned over to rest his head on Marco’s shoulder. His hand slipped inside of Marco’s, fingers interlacing and gripping tight. Marco squeezed back, savoring the feeling of reassurance. Confirming that it was really happening.

“Should I be worried or jealous?” Jean asked. “You’re living with a very… interesting person.”

"Uh no. That’s just my... um... housemate. And there's just really no excuse for Hanji. Or explanation."

“I can see that.”

Marco shifted his head just enough that he could bury his nose into the dark blonde hair. The cigarette smell lingered there. This was real. And scary. But he was diving right in. “You sticking around for a bit?” he asked.

Jean’s head nodded against him.

“Good. I’m taking you out then. Hope you like guinea fowl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... my real life tied up and hid my muse for awhile. But I'm mostly back.
> 
> *massive hugs to my two biggest supporters* Thank you, as always, ladies.
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It's been a long time coming. I am trying to be a bit more active, so feel free to hit me up on here, on Tumblr (valkyrie-reborn), or on Twitter (@ashleigh_1710). I don't bite (hard).
> 
> **Edit (04/20/15): Things have happened (work and personal). This is still in progress. Keeping a status page over here: http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/writings


	11. Burned Birds and (Un)Expected Party Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean showed up without warning on Marco's doorstep, which makes him the uninvited +1 to a get-together of friends and family. Just how will things work out with an action star at a small town party...

*********************************************

"This is... PopCrush with Billy Bush. On the show today, I have the two anchors of Fan-Attic, Olou Bozado and Petra Ral."

"Hey Billy! Thank so much for having us both."

"Indeed. You just couldn't resist allowing two of the greatest celebrity repo - "

(A muffled smacking sound can be heard)

"Um, yes, thank you for having us on your show."

"Well, diving into today's celeb news, especially knowing how much Olou loves this guy, what do you two think of Jean Kirstein suddenly appearing in Chicago after being completely off the radar, even from paparazzi, for over a week?"

"Love, Billy? That is _beyond_ an overstatement. Hmmph. I don't feel it's newsworthy. Temperamental celebrity brat throws tantrum in agent's office, per our sources, and then disappears to sulk."

"You don't think there's anything more to it? I mean, it's been a little while since the breakup. Maybe he found a new girl he wants to hide. What're your thoughts, Petra?"

"I actually have a gut feeling that this is about the rumblings we're hearing from Triple Wall Studios about the end of the Survey Corps series. Not entirely certain how it applies, but I'm pretty sure it does. From what I understand from our sources is that it was a big part of his argument with his agent, Annie Leonhardt. And now he's seen with long-time set trainer, Reiner Braun, working out?"

"So no new love for our spotlight averse rising star?"

"If I can give my thoughts on that."

"Go ahead, Olou."

"From what I heard earlier this month, that no-talent hanger-on has supposedly 'vowed off' dating any celebrities for good. And could you imagine any normal person wanting to bring such a rude, selfish little man in their life?"

"Olou, dear, your preferences are showing."

"Oh quiet, Petra. I can't help but express my disgust for his lack of talent, especially since it affects my enjoyment of Levi's movies."

"And... with that, we'll take a short break. When we return, we'll be talking Kardashians. This is PopCrush with Billy Bush."

 

*********************************************

 

The sharp bite of his fingernails into the soft flesh of his arm failed to rouse him. Marco was not dreaming. Or at least it seemed that way.

He really was driving through a quiet neighborhood in Trost. Seeing the kids playing in their yards, enjoying the lingering warmth before the sun set completely on the spring day. In his rust bucket of a Ford. To spend the evening with family and friends. And a famous actor. Who had _kissed_ him.

Jean Kirstein - Sexiest Man of the Year - had kissed _him_. Marco Bodt, boring librarian of a teeny tiny library in a forgettable little suburban town. How could he have _possibly_ doubted that this was really happening? It absolutely sounded like something that happened every day.

Just to make sure, Marco pinched himself again. He still didn't wake up. And the whole thing still didn't make sense. His head was a swirling mess of curiosity, anxiety, happiness, confusion, and, well, desire. Resigning (or at least trying to) himself to the absurdity of it all, he sighed. _If it is a dream, I guess I may as well enjoy it then._

Marco stole a quick peek next to him. The soft, fading sunlight of the April evening truly suited Jean. He practically glowed, silently looking out the side window like the hardened hero he portrayed in his movies. The beginnings of a 5 o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, expression focused, eyes squinting against the disappearing sun. It was hard to believe he was real, that everything was real.

Light was shining from most of the windows on the large ranch home that was their destination.   Marco pulled along the curb and put his ancient car into park at the edge of the road. The engine immediately protested being put in idle, but quieted a little. Thankfully without backfiring. He winced, embarrassed, and peered over to the passenger seat.

The short drive across town appeared to have affected Jean more than anticipated. _His face is white as a sheet_ , Marco noticed on closer inspection, guilt sinking into his stomach. Jean's reaction to his car had been to make a few comments about regretting coming on a motorcycle. He'd even gone so far as to offer to have his friends bring one of his cars from the city. While Marco had thought he was joking at the time, now he wasn't so sure.

Running his gaze over Jean, the other man seemed a little worse for wear, but recovering rapidly. Even in the borrowed hat and ill-fitting sport jacket, he still looked as attractive to Marco as he had flushed and kissed breathless in his entry hall. Hands that had been clinging white-knuckled to the seat carefully released their grip and settled into his lap.

Worry gnawed at the edges of Marco's thoughts and made him feel it in his stomach. _What if it isn’t the ride that has him looking like that? What if he's regretting coming along? It's not like this is some high-class Hollywood party or something._ Too many concerns to count always flooded in as soon as things slowed down enough for them to slip in. Maybe inviting Jean along to meet his friends so quickly was the wrong move.

“You still sure you want to do this?” Marco asked hesitantly, testing the waters. “I'm throwing you into the lion’s den a bit. Well, not really a lion's den, but it is just a lame small party. We can still leave if you want.”

Jean startled at Marco's voice, immediately composing himself like nothing was amiss. He sighed, exaggeratedly so. “Like I told you - multiple times actually, Polo - it’s fine. It’s not like I should expect you to drop everything just ‘cause I fucking show up on your doorstep.”

“Are you sure though? Like really sure? With you being, well, you.”

“Being… me?”

“Famous and stuff…“

“Huh? Why should my being famous be a problem? Unless you think I should be worried over someone talking about me being here.”

_Talking about him? Oh no._ Marco immediately jumped to reject the concern. “It’s not that – “

“ – Good,” Jean cut him off, staring hard out the side window, “since that's the only worry I have. I’d hate to have to forget that you existed...”   His voice - so quiet as it trailed off that Marco almost couldn't hear it over the engine - had an odd edge to it, there and gone in an instant.

Marco awkwardly clamped his mouth shut, gripping the steering wheel. He wanted to correct Jean, tell him that he was just worried about him being bored, thinking that they were all not worth his time. But the words just couldn't come out. Anything he could think of just made him look like an idiot, full of excuses.

Jean's train of thought had immediately gone to that place was worrisome. _Would he actually do that?_ _Just what would happen if Jean’s trust was broken?_

Not that Marco had any intention of doing so, the questions flashed into his mind all the same. It probably wouldn't be pretty. All the more of a reason to make sure things went smoothly tonight and that there were no surprises. Marco trusted his friends, but no one was perfect. One wrong thing said in the earshot of the wrong kind of company, and it could be over in a flash.

After a few beats of silence between them, Jean laughed awkwardly, his mouth quirking up into a half smile. Like he'd been joking. It seemed forced though, and the whole exchange left Marco feeling a tiny bit unnerved. The walls and masks that had allowed Jean to keep him at arm's length were already threatening to reappear. He needed to tread slowly and carefully along this path.

Releasing his death-grip, Jean relaxed into his seat, tone lightening as he continued talking, “I survived a trip in this thing. Pretty sure I can make it through a birthday dinner for your stepbrother.” It was getting harder to tell by the second if the comment before truly was serious.

"If you say so," Marco conceded.

"I do."

Jean's fingers slipped into Marco's hair, ruffling it messily. The touch brought his attention fully back into the present and out of the deep recesses of his head. As much as Marco thought he understood the other man, that he thought he was cracking those walls, Jean was still as enigmatic and hard to pin down as ever.

His own reflection in the rearview made Marco sigh. The cowlick he had fought with so long before they left - to the point of irritating a very impatient Jean - was already sticking straight up in back. So much for his attempt to look well-groomed. He reached forward and turned off the ignition, the whiny engine falling silent with a rattling shudder.

Snorting laughter filled the car. “Sure you won’t take me up on letting you have one of mine?” Jean asked.

Marco shook his head, pushing any negativity to the back of his thoughts and pulling out the keys. “You’re a funny guy,” he quipped, reaching into the back for a wrapped present and bottle of wine.

Their shoulders brushed and Marco could have sworn that Jean started to lean in. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “I’ve been told I use insults and humor to deflect when I’m uncomfortable. Lies, all lies, I tell ya,” Jean shot back.

“Totally. Utterly untrue,” Marco agreed, but laughed all the same.

The million dollar smile had returned in full – blindingly handsome – force. All perfect teeth, nicely shaped lips, and a hint of a dimple in his left cheek. When the smile reached those golden eyes like it was now, Marco was pretty sure there were very few people who could deny Jean whatever he wanted.

_Looking that good... That is so cheating._

Exercising a touch of restraint, Marco managed to keep himself from starting the car back up again and driving them straight back to his house. Or hauling him into the backseat to hear those pleased noises he'd drawn out of Jean before, even if it was just for five minutes.

Marco wished that he didn’t already have these plans, didn’t have to spend the whole night with the others. Any other time, it wouldn’t be a question. But things changed when Jean had taken down a very important wall, a delicate mask, and let him in. Their kiss had taken that ember of hope and desire Marco had been trying hard to control and flooded it with fuel. He wanted to know more, share more, experience more, and dig deeper with this man.

_Calm down, calm down, calm down_ , Marco repeated over and over in his head. _Take it slow. Get your head sorted and keep CALM._

A chance like this, on something so utterly unbelievable, needed to be savored and not rushed. And Marco had every intention of making the most of any precious time he could get with Jean. Even if it meant exposing him to the craziness that was his friends and family.

_Let's not screw it up before it even starts._

They climbed out of the car and approached the door. The nicely cut lawn and beds overflowing with flowers were a welcome and familiar sight. A gentle breeze rustled through the newly opened blooms, carrying a sweet scent that helped Marco relax as he climbed the stoop. Fingertip on the doorbell, he turned to Jean, “Last chance. Run or stay?”

Taking the bottle of wine, Jean tilted to bump their shoulders together, pulling away but keeping close. It had been the briefest of touches, but it was enough to make Marco flush bright red and feel instantly flustered. He coughed and kept his face looking away from Jean, not wanting him to see just how little it took to get to him. _As if he doesn't already know, at least a little bit, about how he's throwing me completely off-balance._

“And miss out on all this small-town excitement? Staying,” Jean replied, his voice teasing and quite close to Marco's ear. His finger pressed Marco’s against the button. Chimes rang out loudly inside. There would be no backing out now.

After several moments, the deadbolt slid open with a click. They were greeted with a nose full of smokiness and the faint beeping of a fire alarm from inside the house. The chaotic activity was a stark contrast to the quiet yard.

Armin sighed out a greeting, “Hey Marco. Minor cooking emergency.” His tired smile grew when he saw that the stoop was occupied by two people, rather than one. “Good to see _both_ of you again.”

Marco’s eyebrow twitched up. The state of the house added to his suspicions. While the place was normally clean and tidy in order to make it easier for the wheelchair, it was practically sparkling today. _Curiouser and curiouser._ “You guys have met?” he asked as they walked into the entry, Armin leading the way.

"Bumped into each other at the library during your reading hour," Armin explained, as if it were as natural as breathing. "You were occupied, so I helped him out just a bit."

It seemed like there was a lot more to it than that, given the look they had shared. Before he could say anything further, a loud voice hollered from the kitchen. "Marco! Please give me a hand in here!"

The three of them laughed and Marco headed further into the house to help his friend. He glanced back, very quickly, a little worried about leaving the two blondes alone together. The two of them were already chatting away like fast friends. Bracing himself, he stepped into the smoky kitchen.

A mess of preparation covered the lowered countertops of the updated and contemporary space. Dishes were already piled high in the sink, and much of the smoke was coming from the opened oven, where Eren was frantically fanning it away with a dish towel. Reaching up, Marco poked the button to open the smoke alarm, silencing its squeaking warning.

"Refused to let Armin help again, huh?" Marco asked as Eren looked his way.

His friend's sheepish downcast expression was more than enough to confirm it. Even before Armin's accident, Eren had hated being taken care of, especially by his most important person. Marco chuckled and walked over to open a window above the sink. The cool breeze from outside immediately helped to start clearing the air in the room.

"Can you check on the stuff cooking on the stovetop?" Eren asked.

Marco moved to do just that, adjusting temperatures down on pans that looked to be bubbling too hot and giving them all a stir. As much of a disaster as he was at cooking, he could at least do that. Between the two of them, they got the cooking under control and Marco started on the pile of dishes, rinsing them and filling up the dishwasher.

"Was that another voice I heard come in with you?" Eren asked as he drizzled a sauce of questionable consistency over the slightly singed birds in the oven. "It didn't sound like Moblit."

Grabbing a towel to dry his hands, Marco shook his head. "It wasn't Mo. I brought someone with me."

Eyebrows raised over bright green - now intensely curious - eyes. "A _guest_ , hmm? Maybe a certain someone you've been spotted around town with? Arm thought you might be bringing him and had me make extra, just in case."

Closing his eyes, Marco rubbed his face, grumbling in annoyance. _I'm going to have to sit down and have a long chat with him after tonight._

As if summoned, the little blonde devil entered the room at that moment, bearing wine glasses for the bottle Jean was still carrying. "Everything under control now?"

Marco nodded, but mouthed, "Talk later," in his scheming friend's direction.

Armin tilted his head like a confused puppy and wordlessly replied back, "What did I do?" Anything further was interrupted by Eren turning from his cooking to greet the guest. And promptly dropping his sauce spoon on the floor.

"No way. You just look like him, right? I'm not burning dinner in front of the real thing, right? It's a lookalike or impersonator or something, right?" Eren asked, his words coming out rapid-fire as he looked between the other three in the room. "Marco, for the love of all that is holy, tell me he just looks like him. It's not possible. It just can’t be."

"You didn't let him know yet?" Armin grinned a little smugly in contrast to the innocent tone he was using. "I'd have thought you'd tell him right away." He deliberately did not meet Eren's gaze. It was obvious he was having a too much fun messing with his husband.

Inwardly cursing that tiny sliver of pure evil in the back of his mind, Marco joined in. There was something reassuringly nostalgic about ganging up on Eren with Armin. Like putting on a favorite old movie and quoting the entire thing from memory. Sighing exaggeratedly, Marco shook his head. "Been a _little_ too preoccupied with keeping him from setting the nice new kitchen on fire."

“Hey now, there was never any danger of fire…”

“You say that like I could have done something about it, Marco.”

“Couldn’t you have like, pinned his foot in place with a wheel and made him accept help?”

“… Guys! Can one of you please tell me who this guy is?”

“Oh come on, you know that he has to learn things on his own or it’s completely unacceptable, even if it means falling on his face over and over.”

“Sometimes even literally.”

“… I’m being ignored, aren’t I?”

“Oh right, the skateboard incident.”

“Not a highlight.”

“And you still married him.”

“… I hate you both, you know that?”

Marco broke first and broke hard. Any further attempts to speak devolved into giggles at Eren’s hurt expression. Armin was drawn in immediately, his bright laughter filling the kitchen and making his cheeks turning red as he started to run short of breath.

“But we love you, Eren,” Armin reassured him, rolling over and wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist. “Especially when you’re stubborn, and confused, and flustered.” The tears streaming down his cheeks made it difficult for his pouting husband to take any comfort in the words, at least right away.

Jean leaned silently against the island in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk on his face. He had been waiting patiently for them to have their fun. Even though he looked comfortable, there was a finger rapidly tapping against his elbow. Marco walked over to his side, resting a hand on one of the broad shoulders.

“Gonna introduce me properly now?” Jean asked under his breath.

"Mmm. When they stop being all cute and lovey-dovey."

Eren had leaned down to press their foreheads together, lightly scolding his husband about being mean. While it was a familiar sight, it still made Marco feel a touch lonely. That ugly dislike at being the third wheel had grown in him since Armin and Eren had gotten together officially. Jean's hand closed over top of his, loosening Marco's grip that had grown unconsciously tighter.

Raising his eyebrow, Jean nodded towards the pair. "I get the feeling they never stop being cute, eh?" Marco could feel his cheeks flush at how easily he had been read, giving the slightest nod of his head. Jean cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself.

The couple looked up with a jolt. A few seconds was all it had taken for them to forget everyone else. Marco sighed and gave them a small smile. Jean bumped against him again, giving their hosts a little waggle of his fingers as a greeting. "Hi there."

Marco rolled with Jean's encouragement, gesturing to Eren first, introducing them both. "Eren, meet Jean Kirstein. Jean, this is Armin's husband, Eren Jaeger."

The star-struck and surprised expression on Eren's face only grew with the confirmation. "So you really are him."

"I feel like I should be insulted. Marco, should I be insulted? I thought I looked a lot like me." Jean crossed his arms and frowned, huffing in feigned annoyance. Eren looked positively mortified.

Loud chimes from the doorbell rang out before Marco could respond. He immediately took advantage of the distraction to back out of room before giving in to the temptation of teasing his friend further. Hiding his sputtering laughter behind a fist, Armin rolled away from the profusely apologizing Eren to pour wine.

_At least he's warmed up enough to kid around with them. Course, he was a bit of a teasing jerk when I first met him too_ , Marco thought as he walked to the door. He smiled and let out a deep breath. Ice had been broken and things were going well for the moment. Now for the next hurdle.

Rapid knocking was mixed in with the ringing doorbell. Marco knew just who it was without even having to look out the window. It was his special combination for when he wasn't sure it would be heard. Or afraid he had the wrong house, which wasn't an unheard of occurrence. Even though he’d been at Armin and Eren’s house multiple times over the last few years.

Peeking out the window, he confirmed it. Moblit – the guest of honor – was standing on the stoop, anxiously shifting his weight back and forth.

The instant Marco opened the door, he was wrapped in an overly tight hug. "Mo," he squeaked, unable to say much more than that. He thumped Moblit hard on the back, but the hug just got tighter. "Bro. Hurts." His stepbrother loosened his embrace after one last squeeze. Marco sucked a huge breath into his released chest and laughed. “Happy birthday. Glad you’re here.”

His (once) carefully arranged hair was mussed again as his stepbrother reached up and dug both hands in, leaving it a mess. “Aww thank you, Marco. You’re such a good little brother!” Moblit pulled back, his expression a little too happy.

Marco’s eyebrow quirked up. It hit him then. The scent of liquor – whiskey most likely with his friends – was lingering around his brother. Marco sighed. Amusing as it could be, drunk Moblit was a bit of a handful.

"Start the celebration early?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Sort of. Erd and the others took me out to celebrate and commiserate with me."

"Commiserate? About what?"

Moblit started to walk past him, seemingly not hearing the question. “Hosts in the kitchen?”

“Yes, but what do you mean, Mo? Something bad happen?” Marco grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling his attention back.

His brother shrugged. An air of defeat hung around him despite the smile on his face. “Was laid off.”

“Today?" he asked, getting another half-hearted shrug and a wider forced smile. Before Marco could say anything further, the doorbell rang. More guests. Giving Moblit a quick squeeze on his arm, Marco looked back to the door as the bell chimed again. "Hold tight here. Don't go in the kitchen until I can prepare you."

It was Mo’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Prepare huh? Eren's cooking can't be that bad. Though it is awfully smokey in here.”

The door flew open as Marco reached for the handle. A black head of hair popped into the opening, spooking him. Mikasa, arms precariously loaded with presents and containers of food, pushed the rest of the way in. Seeing the brothers, she huffed, "Some reason you didn't open this when you're both standing right here?"

Marco flushed lightly, “Well, I was… We were – “

“- Being slow,” she finished for him, turning to his brother with her kindest smile. “Happy birthday, Mo, you old man.”

“Thank you, Mikasa. You alone tonight?” Moblit asked, taking the stack of wrapped and bagged gifts from her and giving her the faintest kiss on the cheek.

Seemingly on cue, a tiny bundle of precocious energy topped with jet black hair zipped in through the still-open door. The cheerful round face below it immediately drooped into a frown, obviously not pleased with what he saw. "Mommy! Where's Uncle Armin?"

"In the kitchen," Marco told the little boy with a grin, taking some of the food containers from Mikasa.

Unhappiness forgotten as quickly as it had come, the three-foot-tall firecracker shot off towards the kitchen, not even waiting for his mother to give him the ok. Happy cries of "Uncle Armin!" could be heard from the other room, even by the front door.

Mikasa let out a tired sigh from smiling lips. One that Marco had heard so many times from so many mothers (including his stepmother). While she may have been worn out, the loving eyes that followed the small boy until he’d gone out of sight showed no signs of it. "Masato is probably going to want to stay here instead of going with his grandparents in a few minutes."

"No, I don't think so. Grandparents always trump even the coolest uncles," Marco assured her. “Where’s your other half?”

“Had to run something by the station, so he dropped us off, but he should be here soon.”

“Guess I’m the odd one out then,” Moblit said, voice still a touch sad.

“Odd one out?” Mikasa glanced between them, momentarily confused, before she brightened up. “Wait… you brought someone tonight, Marco?”

Placing himself between the kitchen and the other two, Marco nodded and drew in a breath. “Before we get interrupted by the fire department or another guest or whatever, I need to let you guys know something about this guy.”

"So serious. Wait. The guy they were harassing you about the other night, right? It has to be. You would have told us if there was someone else in your life. So we know he's not unattractive, so that's nothing that will be a surprise," Mikasa teased, chuckling softly. "He's not a wanted felon, is he?"

"Or married? Because that would be the only reason I'd have a problem," Moblit added as he tried to peek inside the tissue paper covering one of his presents. Mikasa reached over to clamp the top of the bag closed.

Frustration starting to rise, Marco opened his mouth to say the words. They were there - fully formed - on the tip of his tongue. But he stopped. Mikasa's eyes, now looking back in his direction, had gone as wide as Marco had ever seen them. She managed to restore her normal stoic façade relatively quickly as she jabbed at Moblit's arm.

His brother refrained from dropping his presents, but only just.

"Definitely not married. As to the wanted felon, I only played one, of sorts, in Survey Corps 3: Coup D'etat. I shouldn't say more though." Jean's familiar hand gripped Marco's shoulder as he leaned in, adding in a stage whisper, "Spoilers and all."

The tease of breath against Marco's ear was bordering on cruelty, torture, or pure obliviousness. Everything about Jean affected him more than it should. Marco wasn't entirely sure he'd make it through the night. Especially with all the muscular gymnastics currently happening to his heart and the plague-worthy swarm of butterflies coursing through his stomach from just that breath.

_It can't be normal to be feeling like some hormonal teen about someone I just met, right?_

Despite the urge to lean into Jean's warm closeness, Marco let the irritation (at himself) override his other urges. Pairing an eye roll with an exasperated tone to disguise the nervousness, he turned and scolded Jean, "Talking about spoilers and you walk out here before I can even tell them." Marco nudged his elbow with a hint of force into an unguarded stomach.

Jean coughed out a laugh, stepping out of range. "What's there to tell? Oh, hey guys, sorry this was without warning, but I brought some asshole actor to the party. There, done." Extending his arm out, Jean was suddenly oozing charisma. "Jean Kirstein. You must be mom to the adorable munchkin currently being fed cookies by our hosts."

Annoyance flashed briefly in her dark eyes. "Uh yes, I'm Mikasa, Masato's mom. If you'll excuse me, I have an idiot to scold," Mikasa replied with a quick but firm handshake. She dashed off into the kitchen, cursing Eren's name under her breath.

"And I'm assuming you're the big bro, Moblit, right?"

Moblit shook Jean's out-stretched hand mutely, nodding. Disbelief and confusion filled his Moblit's expression as he let go, staring at his released hand like he wasn't sure if it belonged to him anymore. Or that he was contemplating whether to never wash it again.

A sly smirk twitched on Jean's face as he watched Mo. Marco got the sense that, much as he might protest it, Jean probably enjoyed seeing the kinds of reactions he could get from others by just his presence. Maybe not with everyone, but at least with the friends and family of those around him.

And just for that, Marco elbowed him again.

"So mean," Jean winced.

Much to Marco's surprise, his brother gently pushed his presents into Jean's arms, asking him in a carefully regulated tone, "Um, can you and can I, well, excuse us?" Without waiting for a reply, he promptly dragged Marco away.

 

\---

 

"Is it some kind of strange new reality show? Or maybe one of those prank shows? No, no, there are no cameras. At least not yet. No, no no. The perfect time to come out with something like that already passed. Hmm..."

Marco perched silently on the edge of the guest room bed. His brother was pacing the length of the room, sporadically shaking his head in confusion and shock as he rambled. Silently counting to 100 in his head, Marco let Moblit absorb the news. He found it a little difficult to suppress the smile threatening to creep up on his lips.

"Maybe blackmail? No, that makes no sense. Marco's not the type to do that and what would a celebrity have to gain from this? Absolutely nothing. Best lookalike ever? No, Marco can't lie that well. That means he is the real thing. But he can't be..."

The freakout struck a familiar cord. _Did I look that wigged out the other night?_ It was pretty likely he had. Had Armin not been at the community center, it would have been Moblit calming him down instead. But never pushing, never prying. Just the worried mother hen.

Not that Marco had much room to criticize him for it. Their overprotective tendencies were eerily similar at times. So much so that mutual friends constantly teased them about whether they were actually blood related.

"The real deal. Here. I must be hallucinating. Too much to drink. Something."

Finally letting loose on the smile, Marco reached out and caught the arm of his brother, stopping him mid-pace. "Mo-bro."

Snapped to attention, Moblit blinked rapidly and turned, his expression something of a mix of touched nostalgia and surprise at being called the nickname. "Thought you outgrew calling me that when you learned to say 'Moblit' properly."

"Well, I guess I can use it on occasion. For random holidays, birthdays, and panic sessions about celebrities suddenly appearing for said birthdays."

One of his brother's hands roughly rubbed his head. Again. Making it official that all Marco's efforts to make his hair look something other than bland and plain were for naught. When he brushed the touch away, he looked up to see that the disbelief had returned to Moblit's face. Shaking his head, Moblit asked, "How did this even happen? How did you meet?"

"The library, oddly enough. He was just kind of there one night."

The bed creaked as his brother plopped down heavily next to him on the bed. "Just showed up, huh?"

"Yup. And we just kinda started to get to know each other. Apparently having a person not even recognize him is something of a novelty."

"Not recognize him?" Moblit dropped his head into his hands, chuckling softly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because I am the definition of an out of touch bookworm? And because Ymir has called me an embarrassment to my sexuality? On numerous occasions, in fact."

A pat on his knee felt more like pity than reassurance. It was all true though.

"It really seems impossible. It's like... something out of a story or a movie or..."

"You do realize movies are stories, right Mo?"

"Oh hush."

Leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder, the two just laughed. Some of the unease Marco had been feeling since he decided to bring Jean with him started to lift. A little guilt remained. It felt like he was rubbing salt into his brother's very fresh wounds. But despite that, Marco was starting to look forward to what the evening would bring.

"Sorry I kind of dumped this on you. I did try to call," Marco said, giving his brother's arm a poke.

He got poked back immediately. "Guys took my phone away. To, and I'm paraphrasing here, prevent me from doing something dumb with my ex."

Marco hummed a soft affirmative in response. He would have to thank his brother's friends for that much later.

The house buzzed with activity on the other side of the door. Masato's grandparents had arrived to pick him up and there was an intense discussion ongoing regarding whether he wanted to stay or go. Not that there was any real chance he'd be able to go against his mother's wishes.

The pair sat in silently on the bed, listening and chuckling at their friends trying to reason with the small boy. In the end, they managed to get him to go along with promises of his favorite sweet rolls. After shared goodbyes and much bustling, the others returned to the kitchen, their conversation now muffled by the closed door.

Jean's voice had been missing throughout, and the lack of special reactions pretty much confirmed that he had made himself scarce. It was probably getting to be about time to return, but Marco wanted to give his brother a little longer to compose himself, so he kept still.

"So," Moblit ventured, disturbing the quiet of the room, "he just walked into the library and decided to be your friend. And that's all?"

It was Marco's turn to give the shrug of confusion. He still didn't understand why Jean was sticking to him. It made him wonder. And worry. It was all too unreal. "I don't really have much of an explanation beyond that. Happenstance, cosmic level good luck, some sort of weird karmic reaction, past lives drawing us together, who knows?"

Even as he'd said the words, Marco had found it difficult to truly put any weight to them. The bizarre circumstances of the last few days had been on his mind most of the waking hours (and some that should have been sleeping).

_But still_.

"You don't believe in that kind of thing though," Moblit said, practically reading his mind.

Marco shrugged and sighed as he replied, "I can't think of any other better explanation though. It's all too weird."

"So you're just getting dragged along with him? Or leading him around? Or something?"

"It feels more like being pulled into his wake. You totally forget that you weren't planning to go in that direction because it's just too much fun and comfortable to follow along. I don't feel like I've been leading him, except about tonight. Though, I'm completely sure that if he didn't want to be here, he wouldn't be."

"Yeah, that's very true. Everything I've ever seen has said he's a really picky guy when it comes to his friends. Of course, I've always thought I'd click with him as a frie... er..." Moblit's voice trailed off, like he had realized he'd said too much.

That was far too suspicious for Marco. He hopped off the bed and stared down at his brother's increasingly red face. Realization sinking in, he asked, "You're his fan, aren't you?"

A small nod.

"How big of one?"

A moment of hesitation. "Pretty big."

"Wait wait wait... So this whole freakout was not because you were worried about me, but because you were unable to keep yourself calm in the face of an actor you really like?"

Another nod.

Marco just shook his head. "Well I guess I don't have to feel so bad about bringing him now, do I?"

His brother ducked his head back down, hiding a tiny smile, "Any chance you're gonna date him? Cause, that would mean he'd be around a lot, right?"

The day just kept getting stranger and stranger. He couldn't hold it in anymore and let loose. Loud laughter made Moblit's head shoot up. Marco yanked his brother off the bed, still cackling and dragged him from the room. "Come on, birthday boy. Let's go meet your new best friend."

 

\---

 

The brothers joined the party, tumblers of Eren's best German whiskey instantly pressed into their hands. Jean and Moblit did - as his brother had expected - bond all too easily. It ended up that they supported many of the same charitable causes and fell quickly into an intense discussion about the topic. Armin eagerly joined in, leaving the remainder of the preparation to Eren and Mikasa.

The familiar twinge from the first day was returning. That underlying and ever-present urge to find out what he didn't know the easy way. Marco resisted, pushing it down, his head telling him that, in the end, it would be better to let everything unfold naturally, as if Jean was a regular person. To let Jean reveal what he wanted to Marco to know, and not just dig information up just because it existed somewhere.

_It'd be idiotic to backtrack on what helped me earn his trust in the first place._

Much as he wanted to sit and observe the interactions of his friends with the now very relaxed and increasingly tipsy Jean, he was drafted into service by Mikasa. Without a word, she held out a platter filled with very crispy (burnt) looking guinea fowl.

Marco took it, his gaze rapidly flicking in Eren's direction to make sure he wasn't watching before he cringed. "Please tell me we have a plan B," he whispered. Much as he loved his friend, the food looked entirely inedible. The idea of feeding it to Jean was horrifying.

"Carla started whipping up food as soon as the shop closed today. She knows her son too well," Mikasa replied quietly. "Should be here any moment."

"So I take it the 'trip to the station' was a little bit of a white lie?"

The sly grin that popped up for the briefest of seconds confirmed it. It wasn't just his mother that knew Eren all too well. Food now in his hands, Marco was pushed into the adjoining dining room. The others were herded in immediately after him.

Just as Marco placed the main course on a slightly crowded table, the final guest popped into the room, oversized Café Reliant take-out bag in hand.

"Marlowe!" Moblit chirped happily at the newest arrival. "You come bearing gifts?"

"Something like that," the other man said, flashing the café's name to everyone. "Happy birthday, you old man."

Armin had moved quickly across the room, snagging the bag from Marlowe and tucking it into an empty cabinet. They all loved Eren, but had long since learned that planning contingencies was always for the best. However, to avoid hurting his pride too much, it was also best to hold off until the appropriate moment to bring them out.

Marlowe glanced at the spread of food for dinner, gaze lingering on the fowl, and chuckled, "Now I see why I was recruited for a special errand. Oh, and we have a _guest_!"

Before Marco could open his mouth to make introductions, Armin had grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Can't you see he's already in cop mode?" Armin whispered so low that Marco just barely heard the words. He was right. Marlowe had straightened his back and propped his fists on his hips. The bright smile had been replaced with a serious expression.

_He doesn't recognize him, does he?_ Marco realized.

After giving Jean a lengthy but methodical once over, Marlowe introduced himself, "I'm Marlowe, Mikasa's husband and friend to the others. And you are?" His words were clipped and professional.

Jean's eyebrow quirked up, surprised by the minimal reaction. "Jean," he answered simply, reaching out to take Marlowe's now extended hand. His guard was up, shoulders stiff. Jean's reserved mask had slipped back in place almost imperceptibly quick.

"Not from around here, right?"

"Nope."

"So where's home?"

"Bounced around a bit, but born in Canada."

"Hockey?"

"Of course."

"Good man. You're here with?"

"Marco."

"And how did you meet?"

"At the library."

"I should have guessed. Was the visit business or personal?"

"Both, I guess."

"Hmm. And what do you do?"

"I'm an actor."

"Decent money?"

"I... make do."

Tension was slowly building between the two as Marlowe's rapid fire interrogation continued. Marco could feel the tremors of Armin's suppressed giggles through the hand still holding his arm. Had he not been worried about Jean reverting to jerk mode, Marco would have been right there with him.

It was hard for their friend to shut it off, after all. Especially when the Freudenberg cop mode got locked onto a target. Marco found himself pitying anyone who ended up on the wrong side of a highway stop. And thankful that he'd managed to sand down at least a _few_ of Jean's rough edges. Or maybe the sheer force of Marlowe's personality just pulled the replies out before he could stop himself.

"Hmm. That's a tough profession. I've done a few small productions myself, when I've had the time. Community players, bit parts in high school and college. Stuff like that. On the side though. Not my actual day job. Do you do stage or screen acting?"

"Um, I've done both, but mainly screen now."

"Figured. Feels like I should know you. Have you been in anything I might have seen?"

Jean shot Marco a quick 'Is he serious or fucking with me?' look. It barely took a second for him to read Marco, hand now over his mouth, amusement plastered across his face. He answered, his tone absolutely serious, "Just some little films. I can't imagine you've seen the Survey Corps movies?"

Marlowe's mouth stopped, still partially open with his next question. It hung like that for a few seconds, as if the words had jammed his lips apart like a wedge. When the total realization hit, Marlowe's eyes went wide. "Oh, _that_ Jean," was all he could manage to choke out before the entire room burst into laughter.

Jean caught Marco's eyes again, grinning bigger than he had seen all night. It really was cheating.

Eren and Mikasa popped into the room with the remaining dishes and more bottles of alcohol. The mortified Marlowe refused to answer his wife when she asked what had happened. Armin gleefully filled them in. As Mikasa comforted Marlowe, the others all settled in around the table.

As he settled into a chair between Moblit and Jean, Marco let out the last of his nervousness in a deep exhale. This was going to work out. It was going to be fun, despite any worries or negative thoughts Marco may have had to the contrary even minutes before. Jean was fitting right in with everyone, as if he'd belonged to their group all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fought with this. Cursed at it. Agonized. Procrastinated. Cursed more. And more. And more. And in the end, it didn't even include two scenes I had planned because I'm still struggling with them.
> 
> But... if I stare at this part any longer, I'm probably going to never post it. So, I hope you all liked this. And I'm sorry for the long wait.
> 
> Moved to a different Tumblr, but also have a writing Twitter, if you'd rather follow there. Handle is ashfilledwords.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!!!


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